


Beyond the Barriers

by Galen_Wordwyrm



Series: Dragonguard & Dragonborn AU [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Conversations, Claudia Redemption, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Light Smut, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:55:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 50,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25684627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galen_Wordwyrm/pseuds/Galen_Wordwyrm
Summary: Take two powerful, half-trained mages, add emotional turmoil, mix in an unhealthy dash of romantic rivalry, bake in a powder-keg of political betrayal and warfare, shake well and stand back.
Relationships: Callum/Rayla (The Dragon Prince)
Series: Dragonguard & Dragonborn AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862521
Comments: 65
Kudos: 120





	1. Arrival

The ragged spheroid of rippling phantasmal violaceous radiance boomed and shivered shadowed resonance in the slightly cool air, dissipating into an infinitesimal point of brilliant singularity before vanishing, depositing three standing youthful figures on the grasses of the wooded alpine meadow, two of them regarding the other warily.

“What have ye done?! Where in the name o' Xadia are we?!”, the white-maned, dark-horned, pale young woman clad in a hooded bodysuit in shades of dark green and deep sapphire demanded hotly, confronting the second young woman who stood there, confused.

“I—that is, umm", the young woman with the white-and-deep-brunette piebald hair mumbled as she glanced around, slightly frantic. “That wasn’t supposed to happen! You and Callum should have been teleported away!”

“Every time! Every single time ye meddle wi' dark magic, summat goes verra wrong!”, white-hair accused, jabbing the index finger of a three-fingered hand at the other girl.

“Can we just, not fight about this right now, and figure out where we are?”, the young man with short dark hair suggested, making calming motions with both hands. 

“Oh, sure, Callum! Ah’ll jest stand here and give yer old girlfriend another chance te disintegrate us!” 

Callum glowered. “That's uncalled for, Rayla. Yeah, I might’ve had a thing for Claudia once upon a time, but that’s not important right now!” He looked around as he hitched the shoulder strap of his dark brown leather satchel into a slightly more comfortable position over his short blue jacket, noting the towering crags of granite on either side of the broad pass they occupied, the pale trunks of golden-leaved birch. “I’m guessing we're somewhere on the western side of the Border, maybe in the south of Katolis, and not far from what’s left of the Breach.”

“Oh that’s just brilliant, Callum! Wonderful!”, Rayla sniped, waving her arms in irritation. “Nothin' like bein' deep in enemy territory! Again!”

A faint sibilant exhalation was the only warning before Rayla shoved Callum out of the path of a sticky blueish globule that splattered wetly against a tree trunk, some droplets splashing on Claudia’s face and neck, who hissed in sudden pain.

Staggered by Rayla's shove, Callum backpedalled, eyes searching for the source of the gooey projectile, spying skittering dun movement in the underbrush, gasping in surprise at the unexpected size of the arachnoid menace that charged them from the underbrush.

Rayla glanced in the direction Callum was looking, recoiling in revulsion. “WHAT IN THE NAME O' XADIA??”

Claudia yipped in disgust, hands waving as she drew a glowing rune in the air.

“Fulminus!”, Callum barked, flicking his right hand at the horror, brilliant blue-white lightning arcing and crackling from his fingertips to touch the monstrous spider, searing it, staggering it in it's tracks.

Her spell cast, Claudia cried “Aspiro frigis!”, unleashing a sudden surge of ice crystals that instantly encased the horror.

“Did—did ye see the size o' that menace?”, Rayla breathed quietly.

Claudia stepped forward, fascinated, ignoring the freezing burn of her minor injuries. “It's amazing!”

“It's a bloody nightmare is what it is!”, Rayla snapped, flicking open one of her twin folding swords, poking tentatively at the flash-frozen monstrosity.

“I’ve never even heard of an arachnid this size!”, Claudia enthused, green eyes flashing.

“Not. Now. Claudia!”, Callum advised pointedly, seeing the dangerous set of Rayla's jaw, the cold fury building behind her violet eyes.

Claudia glanced up, smiling tight-lipped in astonished delight, tapping the tip of her cute nose with her right index finger, a sure signal her mind was rapidly working overtime.

“I—I think I saw what might be an old road, downhill from here”, Callum sighed, shoulders slumping. “We should see where it goes.”

Rayla nodded, folding her sword with a flick of her wrist and stowing it in her belt at the small of her back. “Fine. But if witchy-britches here tries any more dark magic, ah might jest have te kill her this time.”

The road proved to be paved with cobbles, guarded in places by drystone walls in extreme disrepair, completely fallen and useless in long sections. Downhill, it led deeper into the mountain pass, uphill, a bridge in the late afternoon distance, a persistent smudge of smoke beyond that hinting at a large habitation.

“Which way?”, quipped Rayla, glancing in each direction.

“Smoke usually means people, people means food", Callum nodded. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

Just over an hour’s trudging walk uphill, over the stone bridge and past a slighted and ruined tor, a modest city protected by high stone walls rose into view. The first entrance they approached was sealed by a stout wooden gate, and they could feel wary eyes appraising their intentions.

“Mebbe another way in…” Rayla suggested.

Almost another hour skirting the city walls, dusk painting the sky crimson, citrine, and honey-orange, and just out of reasonable bowshot, led to another gate, this one flanked at the right by a two stall carriage house and stable. Guards were posted outside this gate, harnessed in jazeraint hauberks and barred full-face bascinet helms, wide sashes of dark lavender homespun thrown over their left shoulders, carrying circular wooden shields, the faces painted purple, blazoned with outlines of crossed golden daggers. Swords and broad-bladed war-axes hung from leather baldricks, hilts and hafts worn and polished from practiced use.

“They…look like they mean business", Callum swallowed nervously.

So far, the guards had not acknowledged their existence.

“Do ye recognize their blazon?”, Rayla asked. Claudia and Callum both shook their heads negative. “Ooooh, wonderful…”, Rayla complained quietly.

Callum retrieved his sketchbook, flipping it open to the pages that held his incomplete hand-drawn map of the continent that comprised the human Pentarchy and the elven lands of Xadia, comparing the scanty landmarks to features he could see in the fading dusk.

“Uh, there shouldn’t be a city here”, Callum announced. “Or a lake for that matter.”

“Well isn’t that jest fantastic!”, Rayla huffed. “Ye messed about wi’ dark magic, again, mind ye, and now we’re well and truly lost, no thanks te ye, Claudia! Ah swear, adoraburrs have more sense than ye!”

“Arguing now isn’t going to solve anything, Rayla”, Callum advised, slipping his sketchbook back into his satchel. “We need food, rest, and information, in that order.”

Rayla pulled up her hood, concealing her horns and pointed ears. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

The mis-matched trio approached the gate, not without misgivings. One guard spared them a glance.

“You’d best get inside the city. It’s not safe with these damned dragons about, burning everything.” His thick accent was unfamiliar to all three of them, the admonition about hostile dragons causing Callum and Rayla to glance at each other. The guard pounded on the gate with a fist. “Open up in there!”

The gate clunked and creaked, admitting them to the city.

Buildings, some two or three floors high greeted their sight, stone and timber construction to the left, mostly plank or timber to the right. The atmosphere inside the walls thrummed with a mixed undercurrent of desperation, arrogance, and resignation, lending a dreary, slightly oppressive cast to the bustling community. A stout stone palace stood at the end of the curving street, opposite the gate they had just passed through. Timber footbridges reached across a deep canal that bisected the city, sharply dividing the wealthier residential area from the commercial side.

“Gr-r-reetings!”, trilled an attractive, imposing blonde woman dressed in well-used plate armor, a long-hafted weapon slung over her shoulder, with a broad stripe of woad-blue tattooing her face, running from her scalp to her jawline over her left eye and cheekbone. “Welcome to Riften, travellers!”

“Hello!”, replied Callum. “Uh, we're…kinda new here. Any chance we could get some directions?”

The blonde grinned. “Certainly! Ahead to your right, over the bridge is the Bee and Barb. Beyond that is the marketplace. If it’s work you’re looking for, you can always make some honest coin splitting firewood.”

The Bee and Barb sounded like it could be an inn. Food and the possibility of a warm bed was very appealing.

“Uh, thanks”, Callum smiled.

“One last piece of advice”, the polite if imposing woman offered. “You might tell your piebald friend there to find a dress that looks a little less like a Thalmor uniform. You’ll have fewer problems, especially in Stormcloak strongholds.” 

Callum, Rayla, and Claudia moved along the street, saw the sign for the suggested establishment, crossed the bridge, and entered the Bee and Barb.

Smoke from the fireplace lent a slight bitter tang to the air, golden candle and lamplight flickering on the plank walls. The small common room was a clutter of a few tables, some chairs and a couple of benches along the walls. 

Rayla stopped in her tracks, staring at the…person behind the bar. Mottled, amber scaled skin. Horned brow ridges. Vermilion eyes. A snouted mouth filled with sharp teeth. And wearing a russet cloth corset over a pale blue dress of fine cloth.

“In or out. You’re spending coin or you’re leaving, your choice", the reptilian grated.

“Uhhh…”, Callum gulped. “In?”

Claudia was almost vibrating with barely suppressed curiosity.

Callum approached the bar. “Umm… what’s on the menu? And do you have a place we can sleep?”

“Rooms are ten septims, yours for a day”, the golden-skinned reptile announced. “We’ve got ale and mead, or wine if that’s your choice. Bread and cheese if you’re broke, beef or venison if you have the coin.”

“T-thanks”, Callum nodded. “Let me talk to my friends, and I’ll get back to you.”

“Whatever.”

Callum huddled with the two girls by the door. “Okay, we are definitely a very long way from home!”

“Ye think?!”, Rayla quipped. “What was yer first clue?”

“This is amazing!”, enthused Claudia, almost dancing with excitement.

“We need money. They use something called ‘septims' here”, Callum informed Rayla and Claudia. “I think we need a quick trip to the marketplace to see if we can trade whatever we have for some local currency.”

Rayla nodded tersely. “Sound thinkin'. Let’s go.”

The trio exited, Rayla holding Callum back, letting Claudia get ahead of them, out of eavesdropping range, but still in sight. “D’ ye no feel it, Callum?”

Callum glanced at his elf girlfriend.

“This place is alive wi' magic! It’s in the air, the ground, the stones! Alive and vibrant, more than Xadia ever was! Ah don't know if ah like it. It’s too much!”, Rayla hissed.

Callum nodded, thinking. “I might have an idea, a theory, but I’m not sure yet. Let’s get something to eat, get some sleep, and we’ll sort it out in the morning.”

They managed to find a merchant at his stall, Brand-Shei by name, who was willing to stay open a few extra minutes to haggle while Callum and Claudia traded kingdom of Katolis coins by weight for local gold septims, and sold a few bits of Claudia's inexpensive jewelry. Rayla hung back, trying not to stare at Brand-Shei's blue-grey skin and pointed ears. The leather drawstring coin pouch clinked reassuringly as the merchant passed it to Callum.

Minutes later, Callum, Rayla, and Claudia sat huddled around one of the small tables in the Bee and Barb, with three tankards of ale, a loaf of coarse bread, some wedges of pungent cheese with blue mottling, and a bowl of lukewarm and indifferent beef stew slowly congealing with grease.

The coin pouch almost had enough left in it to afford a room for the night.

“We’re in serious trouble", Callum confirmed quietly.

Rayla sniffed at one of the wedges of cheese, shrugged, and took a bite, eyes opening wide at the intense, sharp flavor. Claudia barely glanced at her rival, seemingly drained of the boundless energy she’d possessed earlier, propping her cheek on one hand, sipping listlessly at a tankard.

“You alright, Clauds?”, Callum inquired.

“She’s been poisoned", a quiet voice informed him. Callum looked up, cautious.

A young woman stood beside their table, long dark blue cloak with the hood thrown back over a pale lavender tunic dress that ended just above over-the-knee brown leather boots, the crenelated tops folded over stylishly. Loose ginger hair fell to her shoulders, and inquisitive bright green eyes regarded them calmly.

“Frostbite spider venom. They’re common in the Rift”, the newcomer offered. “She'll be okay, mostly, but it’s better if she gets an antidote.”

“And jest who would ye be?”, Rayla demanded, right hand moving to the small of her back.

“Can I join you?”, the red-head asked. “If I’m standing here too long, Brynjolf is going to get the idea I’m up to something, and then you’ll really be in trouble.”

Callum glanced at Rayla, raised eyebrow. Rayla nodded, ever so slightly, but didn’t move her hand from off her weapon.

“Sure", Callum agreed. “Pull up a chair.”

Seated, the young woman helped herself to some cheese, a scrap of the bread, and several sips of ale. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you since you arrived in Riften. You’re not from here, are you? I mean, ‘here' here.”

Rayla's violet eyes sought Callum's dark green. Cautious.

“My name is Sheila”, the redhead told them, speaking just loud enough to be heard over the ambient tavern noise. “I’m not from here, Tamriel, either."

“Who says were not from this ‘Tamriel’?”, Rayla challenged.

“Not who, what", Sheila corrected. “Nothing really. Other than your boyfriend doesn’t carry any weapons at all, you move like you're Dark Brotherhood, but you’re not, and Claudia there is just begging for a dagger in the back because the way she’s dressed screams ‘I’m a spy for the Aldmeri Dominion’!”

Callum sighed, head drooping. “You’re right. We’re not from ‘here'.”

Sheila nodded, vindicated. “Eat up and follow me.”

“And jest why would we trust ye?”, Rayla demanded.

Sheila glared at Rayla. “Because if you spend the night here, there’s a really good chance someone from the Thieves Guild will murder you in your sleep and dump your bodies in the canal!”

Callum grinned nervously. “I say we trust her, Rayla", he chirped.

“Huh…?”, Claudia mumbled blearily.

Callum encouraged Claudia to eat, and the trio finished their meal, rising to follow Sheila out the door closest to the Riften marketplace. Sheila turned right, leading them around the building, taking an out of the way route composed of alleys and narrow passages between buildings. As the small group crossed a footbridge over the canal, Rayla paused, unnerved by her twinned shadows, glancing up into the night sky, standing stock still at the sight.

Two half moons, the smaller one closer than the larger, shone down on them.


	2. Accomodation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, Chapter Two.
> 
> From here on, I'm going to be basing a lot of this tale on my most recent playthrough, and will include some locations, characters, and content from mods I installed. Keep an eye out for...select...characters from other franchises that would play well in this setting.
> 
> Future chapters will include graphic description of combat and injury, and some definitely adult content will appear. You Have Been Warned.

Sheila saw that Rayla had paused, quickly discerning why. “Yeah, two moons. I’ve been here six months? Still not used to it. But it beats three”, she grinned. “C'mon. Honeyside is just the other side of this bridge and to the left.”

Honeyside was a low house of squared hewn timbers, age and weather-darkened, with an overlaid gable roof of split shakes adorned with a ventilation dormer, overlooking one of the closed canal gates that accessed the lake. Closed parchment-pane windows that would permit light and air during hours of daylight. The well-fitted double doors, reinforced by riveted black iron bands, opened when Sheila used a key produced from beneath her cloak. 

Claudia was almost staggering, looking distinctly unwell. 

Sheila led the trio into the main room, stone fireplace and cooking hearth to the left, a well crafted square table and three chairs against the wall opposite the door, between two parchment-pane windows, beneath a mounted antlered deer skull. On the wall to their right, a wardrobe and bookshelves. An unlit wrought-iron chandelier of six goathorn lanterns hung from the rafters of the main room. Just beyond a shadowed doorway of heavy timber, a wide bed awaited, a low chest of drawers at the foot, with nightstand to either side. A weapon plaque of gilt metal-edged scarlet-stained polished burl maple above the fireplace mantle vertically displayed a simple dagger in pride of place.

Something about the dagger made Rayla feel inexplicably vaguely uneasy.

Sheila had just removed her cloak and hung it from a peg near the doors when a whip-cord slender auburn-haired woman dressed in a knee-length night-shirt of some soft, pale fabric stormed into the main room via a staircase to below just out of sight beyond the wardrobe and bookshelves. The forearm-length steel dagger in her right hand had Rayla reaching for her twin folding swords.

The woman stopped as soon as she recognised Sheila. “Oh. It’s you", she scoffed. “Who are your…friends?”, wary.

Rayla paused, hands on her hilts.

“They’re in trouble, Iona", Sheila explained. “The kind of trouble our…employer…would be interested in. One of them has been poisoned. Frostbite spider.”

Iona sighed, definitely annoyed. “You couldn’t take them to the Ratway?”

“No", Sheila challenged. “And you know better!”

Iona scoffed again, moving past them to rake the embers of the banked fire with a poker, placing some more wood to raise the flames. “Fine. I’ll make a posset while you fetch antidote from the workroom. You, sit!”, she ordered Claudia, who slumped into one of the chairs.

The contents of a jug of milk pulled from a chest near the fireplace gurgled into a long handled open top kettle, which Iona placed on a gridiron above the fire. While the milk came to a gently smiling boil, she fetched four metal tankards from a cupboard, then uncorked a large bottle of dark green glass, sniffing the contents.

Sheila emerged from the cellar, bearing a small opaque scarlet bottle, handing it to Claudia. “Here. Drink this. Don’t ask what’s in it.” Claudia did so with a grimace.

Callum and Rayla stood near the wardrobe, trying to stay out of the way.

After a few minutes, Iona squatted, pulling the kettle from the heat, pouring a quantity from the bottle into the heated milk, stirring in a heathy pinch of sweetly pungent herbs, then poured the resulting hot brew into the tankards, slapping Sheila’s hand away when she reached to claim one. “Make your own!” 

Denied, Sheila pouted.

Tankard in hand, Iona took a seat at the table opposite Claudia, dagger left openly within reach. “I’m Iona, Steward of Honeyside, sworn to serve the Thane of Riften in all things. I am his sword and his shield.” She drank from her tankard. “Who are you?”

“My name is Callum", he introduced himself. “This is Rayla, and Claudia is at the table with you. Thank you for your, for your thane's, hospitality.”

“Why are you here?”

“Sheila said it was better than being murdered in our sleep”, Callum replied, drawing an amused grunt from Iona, who pushed a tankard towards Callum, Rayla, and Claudia.

Iona nodded, a decision made. “You can stay here the now, provided you remain good guests. Claudia can sleep below in the guest bed, you two can use the master's bed. You’ll leave the lake door barred until morning, or I’ll know why. Sheila, help Claudia below. You’re responsible for her. I bid you good night.”

With that, Iona drained her tankard, dropped it in a bucket of water near the fireplace, and departed below after securing the doors for the night, dagger casually in hand.

Sheila helped a groggy Claudia stand, draping her arm over her shoulders to guide her. “See you in the morning.”

Callum used a wooden spill found in a ceramic jar on the fireplace mantle to light a footed goathorn lantern on one of the nightstands next to the large bed, tossing the spill into the fire to be consumed, before banking the fire again for the night.

The thud of removed boots, the clink of harness buckles and soft sounds of clothing being removed told Callum that Rayla had undressed while he was occupied with the fire. Her snow-white hair shone in the lamplight against the pillows as she lay on the right side of the wide bed, quilts and feather duvet pulled up to her chin as she lay on her left side. One of her folding blades within reach on the nightstand.

Callum slipped the strap of his satchel over his head, laying it on top of three books left on the low chest of drawers, probably by the owner of the house, unwound the red scarf knitted so long ago by his mother, and removed his jacket, hanging the clothing on a peg by the barred door. He sat on the left hand side of the bed, his back to Rayla, kicking off his boots before pulling his tunic over his head, untying the drawstring of his trousers and pulling them down, stripping out of his knit woolen stockings.

He lifted the bedclothes, slipping under the cool covers of bed, finding the sweet-smelling ticking of the soft straw mattress over the woven rope bed somehow comforting.

It was the first time in weeks he’d been truly alone with Rayla. Now here he was, lying beside her. In bed. Staring up at the shadows that flickered in the rafters.

“Callum?” Rayla's voice, soft in the semi-darkness.

Callum shifted, rolling on his left side. “Yeah?”

“Ah'm scared. Really, really scared. And…ah don’t like it”, Rayla confessed, a small hitch in her voice.

Callum reached out, hesitant, wanting nothing more than to reassure the person, the woman he loved.

Fingertips touched the cool, bare skin of her shoulder. 

Rayla was utterly naked.

Callum swallowed hard.

“Ah'm so scared, and ah feel so alone", Rayla whispered. “Ah can’t trust Claudia, and ah dinnae know what two moons will do te me when they come full. Ah feel like ah might jest disappear completely. And ah dinnae know if we'll ever see home, Xadia, ever again.”

Callum gently rubbed Rayla’s back, letting her babble. She put up such a hard façade to the world, to hide her insecurities. Seeing her like this both elated and saddened him. 

“Hold me, Callum. Please…” He knew she hated asking for anything. “Please, jest hold me. Let me know ah'm nae alone.” 

Callum snuggled as close to Rayla as he felt he dared, right arm slipping over her trim waist. She moved to be even closer, pillowing her head on his folded left arm, her bottom pressed against him, legs tangling with his. A soft sigh as she finally relaxed, fingers of her right hand laced with his.

“Thank ye...”

He could smell the faint earthy sweet scent of her silky hair as she fell asleep. Callum kissed Rayla's hair, just behind her ear, settled, and watched the flickering play of lantern-light on the walls in contemplative silence until it guttered out.

*-*-*

Claudia took a slightly shaky breath, blinked sleepily, and tried to roll over as gently as possible, swallowing in a parched throat to fight down a greasy flutter of nausea. She couldn’t recall ever having felt worse. Not even when—after she'd—

No. Her mind shied away from that memory.

She could hear someone moving around in the room beyond, readying for their day. Claudia blinked again, almost focusing, understanding the golden illumination came from candles in lanterns hung on walls of dressed stone, sawn joists supporting the plank floor above.

Where was she? The castle in Katolis? Or an outbuilding of Banther Lodge? 

Claudia pushed back the bedclothes, sitting upright cautiously, plucking at the soft night-shirt she didn’t recall putting on the night before. 

Everything was such a blur. She stood up, shuffling carefully to the doorway. She was in a windowless chamber, possibly a cellar, if the stairs leading up were any indication.

Confused, curious, Claudia staggered across the room, carefully climbing the stairs, gazing blankly at the main room with it's fireplace, then looking right, into the bedchamber.

Snow white hair, black horns far too close to the tousled brown, nestled peacefully under layers of quilts.

Rayla. Was in bed. With Callum.

Claudia didn’t remember lunging, throwing open the doors to the city, leaning desperately over the weathered wooden railing, being violently ill into the dark waters of the canal far below, hair blowing in the cool breeze. Sobbing breaths in the chill morning light.

Rayla. Had slept. With Callum.

Claudia was ill again, retching in misery until her stomach cramped. She slumped to her knees, clinging to the railing, it’s silent support the only thing preventing her from toppling into the noisome channel.

“Are…are you alright?” 

Sheila.

Claudia shook her head. “No.”

“Your friends are still aslee--" Claudia’s cold glare cut Sheila off. “Umm…tea?”, she offered weakly, with an apologetic shrug.

“Hot Brown Morning Potion”, Claudia muttered, tucking a lock of white hair behind her left ear. “If I can keep it down…”

“Come inside. I’ll get breakfast started", Sheila offered.

Claudia rose, shaky, and shuffled in, sitting at the table while Sheila stoked the fire, sitting on a low three-legged stool to cook the morning repast, which turned out to be a more-or-less edible eternal pottage, improved by the addition of some crumbled sharp yellow cheese. 

Sounds of movement from the large bed.

Claudia turned to see Rayla sitting up in the bed, stretching her arms languidly, yawning, nude to the waist, pale skin gleaming in the dim room. 

Rayla blinked at Claudia, arms wide in mid-stretch. Realized her circumstances.

“Jest have a bloody picture painted! Ye kin stare at that!”

Claudia’s cheeks flamed in embarrassment. Her bowl clattered on the table, forgotten as Claudia fled down the stairs.

*-*-*

Callum regarded the lump under the blankets with a practiced eye.

“You have to come out sooner or later…”

“No, I don’t!” Claudia’s voice, from beneath layers of blankets and quilts. Petulant. Hurt.

“Clauds, don’t be like this--", Callum reasoned.

“Don’t call me that! You slept with her!!” Bitter accusation.

“Yes! Slept, and that's all!”, Callum barked. “We were exhausted!”

“She was naked!”, Claudia objected.

Callum dragged a hand down his face in frustration. “Yeah, well, that was going to happen sooner or later.”

Claudia flipped back the covers, flopping over to glare at Callum. “So you admit you want to—with her! She’s an elf!!”

“So what?!”, Callum argued. “So what if Rayla is an elf?! It doesn't matter who I love, because it’s none of your business, honestly!”

“I grew up with you!”, Claudia screamed.

“That didn’t stop you from trying to kill me! Or Ezran! Or Zym!”, Callum yelled.

“You killed my father!”

“He killed mine!”

Both of them were breathing hard, glaring at each other.

“You hate me", Claudia muttered.

Callum sighed. “No. I don’t. But I’m not really happy with some of the decisions you’ve been making for a long, long time. We used to be friends, Claudia--"

“You threw that away when you chose the Moonshadow slut!”

Callum stepped into the room, close to the bed where Claudia lay. “That was completely uncalled for.” Quiet anger in his voice. “We're in this situation because of your choices. We have no idea if we’ll ever get home, because of you. We know nothing of where we are, or what's going on. We're broke, Rayla is scared out of her mind, and you’re throwing a tantrum over something that didn’t happen.”

Callum walked back to the doorway, looking at her over his shoulder. “We're all there is of our home now, because of you, Clauds, because of your loyalty to a man who threw nations into chaos with his ambition, who was ready to sacrifice you and your brother. We live or die here, together. Sulk all day here if you want. I’m going to see what I can do to make some money.” He turned away.

“Maybe it’s time you grow up.”

*-*-*

Iona had unbarred the doors to the lake, opening them to air out the house while she ate breakfast on the deck overlooking the lake. Sheila sat at the table in the main room, studiously avoiding looking at Callum out of embarrassment from overhearing the argument.  
Rayla had dressed, pulling up her hood to conceal her horns, twin blades stored in her belt.

Callum slipped the satchel strap over his head, settling it comfortably on his shoulder, glancing at the title of one of the books on the low chest of drawers as he did so: ‘An Explorers Guide to Skyrim'. A glance at Rayla, and he walked out the doors, leaning on the railing, staring across the water.

Rayla joined him a moment later, fingers laced behind her neck, her expression carefully neutral.

“That probably could have gone better", Callum muttered.

Rayla glanced at him. “That it could."

“I meant what I said. We are all we have of home.”

She nodded in agreement.

“How long de ye think witchy-britches will sulk for?”, Rayla inquired.

Callum scoffed. “Probably the rest of the day. Or until she finds something to distract herself. She can be awfully focused when the need arises.”

Rayla folded her arms, leaning on the railing, looking out at the rippling water of the lake. “Ye coulda had yer way wi' me last night. Ah would nae have objected…”

“That’s…not what you needed last night.”

“So the Prince of Katolis thinks he knows me so well…”, Rayla smirked, an odd, happy look in her violet eyes.

Callum slipped an arm around her, leaning on the railing beside her. “I…like to think so.”

Rayla kissed him. Sweet, tender, full of promise and passion. “Ye were right", she whispered with a smile. “Next time…”

“Next time?”, Callum grinned.

Rayla nodded. “Next time…”, she leaned to whisper in his ear. “Dinnae be too gentle when ye ravage me.”

A soft, sensuous kiss on his cheek, and Rayla walked back inside. Callum watched her go, noting the sway of her shapely hips, blushing fiercely when he noticed Iona, who'd been sitting at a table, just feet away the entire time, a knowing smirk on her face.

“You’d be well served taming that filly, sooner rather than later, I think.”


	3. Acclimation

Rayla walked back into Honeyside, a faint self-satisfied smile on her face, noticing that Claudia still hadn’t made reappeared from below. Thumbs tucked in her belt, she thought it probably for the best. Sheila was sitting at the table, bathed in yellow light from the parchment-pane windows that had been opened slightly, meticulously peeling the shells off a wooden bowl full of hard-boiled eggs, avoiding eye contact with Rayla, who paused before she opened the door to Riften.

“Would ye mind keepin' half an eye on Claudia, make sure she dinnae wander of wi'out me or Callum?”

Sheila nodded politely, silent, still not looking at Rayla.

Outside, Rayla turned right, trotted over the footbridge, retracing the route from the previous night by memory until she was in the alley behind the Bee and Barb, beneath the end of the gable roof. A quick glance in either direction to confirm she was alone in the shadows of the alley, and a lithe, powerful leap strait up, catching and gripping the facia board, legs kicking, swinging up into a practiced flip that landed her quietly on the ridge of the weathered wood shingle roof. 

Crouching, Rayla waited, watching the folk of the city go about their lives, unaware of her presence. The bustle of the marketplace to her left, beggars plying their piteous trade against the low wall. How typical of humans to ignore the needs of the least among them.

*-*-*

Callum kept to the main streets of the city, working his way along the canal until he located the Bee and Barb, using it as a landmark to reach the marketplace and the stall of Brand-Shei. Some polite conversation pointed Callum toward the blacksmith Balimund at the Scorched Hammer, finding the artisan preparing the forge for the day’s work.

“Uh, hello", Callum waved. “I was wondering if you had any odd jobs you needed doing?”

The thickset man with the blonde mane grinned behind his thick drooping moustache. “Well, I don’t know if you’re the type to go hunting flame atronachs for fire salts, but if you can swing an axe, I'll buy all the firewood you can split. Boring work, but honest coin.”

Callum nodded. “Show me to the block?”

The big man chuckled. “Not unless you’re one of those damned thieves.”

Callum blanched when he realised the meaning of what he'd said. “N-no, no. Not a thief. Lost, a long way from home, just need to make a few, uhh, septims!”

Balimund nodded at the chopping block and the axe embedded in it. “All yours, my boy.”

Callum walked over, wrenched the axe free, and set the first forearm length round in place. ‘Quarters should do’, he nodded to himself, and started chopping. Within minutes he was sweating, stopping to strip off his scarf and short jacket, then carried on, the axe rising and falling in a staggered rhythm of attentive mindless exertion.

*-*-*

High above, Rayla observed Callum as he worked, admiring the way he adapted to all the myriad challenges life threw at him. She realised at some point Callum had exerted himself enough to the point he'd removed not only his scarf and jacket, but tunic as well, and she'd spent a considerable amount of time watching the smooth movement of his muscles in the midday sun. She blushed at the thoughts she'd been having about him, wondering if she could make him perspire in a similar manner.

“Down, girl", Rayla chuckled quietly to herself. But she didn’t stop watching. Or imagining…

*-*-* 

Callum paused, axe held across his hips, hair dripping with sweat, breathing hard but evenly.

“Here, lad. Have a drink and some food", Balimund offered. “Come sit in the shade and rest.”

Food turned out to be firm yellow cheese, sharp and pungent, bread, and chunks of a dried, slightly spicy sausage as thick as his wrist. Drink was a pleasantly crisp hoppy ale, effervescent, but not strong enough to impair him, according to Balimund.

Balimund eyed the rack where Callum had stacked his day’s labour. “Two cords, not including what went into my forge", he nodded. “I say you’ve worked hard enough today, lad. Time to waste some of your wages on wine and women!”, tossing Callum a bulging leather coin pouch, so full it barely rattled.

Callum gaped at the sudden wealth. He'd been expecting a handful of coins at best.

“Be damned careful, don’t flash it around”, Balimund advised. “Damned Thieves Guild would cut your throat for a tenth of that.”

Callum slipped back into his tunic, still too warm to don his jacket, using it instead as a makeshift carry-all to contain his windfall.

“I’m usually not so fond of you Imperials, but no complaints from you and some damn fine work today", Balimund complimented. “I wouldn’t object if you turned up tomorrow either. Always plenty to do around here, and my son has other tasks he needs to attend to.” 

Callum nodded. “Yessir. Thank you, sir!”

“Sir? Bah!”, Balimund scoffed good-naturedly. “I’m no sir! I work for a living, not like those damned peacocks in Mistveil Keep! Be off with you lad, and mind what I said!”

*-*-*

Rayla skirted the edge of the roof, steps light as a forest-cat on the hunt, guarding Callum from above, her eyes alert for trouble, leaping from roof to roof, even across the narrow streets, her shadow flitting over the ground like a passing hawk ready to stoop on unwary prey. In due course, Callum reached the footbridge that led to Honeyside, and she casually, almost silently landed on the cobbles behind him as his boots clattered on the foot-worn boards of the bridge.

“Enjoy the view from up there?” Rayla's cheeks heated at the smile in Callum's tone.

“Who's te say ah was watchin' ye all the day? There’s far more happenin' in sech a place than ye'd ever know”, Rayla quipped, a half-step behind Callum as they crossed the bridge.

“Then I guess you didn’t see me stop Balimund from falling in the forge", Callum shrugged.

“Ye did nae such thi—" Too late, Rayla realized her inadvertent confession. Heat rose in her cheeks. Increased when she remembered the…enjoyable…daydreams she'd had while watching him.

Callum turned, one hand on the door ring. “Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful?”, he smiled shyly, and opened the door.

Claudia was still in her borrowed nightshirt, sitting in one chair, bare feet up on the seat of another, her knees supporting a thick leather-bound volume while she read by lantern and window light, one hand occasionally turning a page, the other holding something she would absently take a bite from as she read. It looked like it had once been parts of a loaf of bread.

A wooden platter on the table held several more of the unusual meals. Slices of bread, with a thick, slightly lumpy paste, pale yellow with small chunks of gleaming white, bits of green embedded in the goo, slathered between them.

“What…”, Rayla enunciated, “are those?”

Sheila smiled brightly from the remaining chair at the table. “Egg salad sandwiches! I finally got the mayo right!”

Callum gingerly picked one of the ‘sandwiches' up, sniffed at it. A faint whiff of egg yes, but also onion. And something else. Bright and hot. He tried an experimental bite. A faint tang of salt, a touch of heat, the bright flavour he didn’t have a name for, creamy…something…, and a smooth egg taste, pleasantly balanced by the yeasty brown bread.

He held it out for Rayla to try, watching her expression. Initial doubt, consideration, then an approving nod. “Tha's nae half bad", she admitted.

Claudia scoffed quietly. “Not bad for human food?”

Callum glanced at her. “Are you talking to us again?”

A cautious nod from the young sorceress. “As you said, Callum, we're all we have of home.”

Rayla was dubious. “Ah'm willin' te call truce the now, until we have a better idea where ye sent us.”

Claudia washed down the last bite of her sandwich with a swallow of apple cider. “’Here' is the world of Nirn, on the continent of Tamriel, in the imperial province of Skyrim, home to the Nords, who followed their hero Ysgramor and his five hundred Companions from Atmorra.”

“That’s…impressive", Callum admitted. 

Claudia looked up from the book, eyes bright. “Skyrim, Tamriel, has thousands of years of history! Most of it's been recorded! It’s fascinating!”

Sheila sniffed the air, then her own sandwich. Looked at Callum. “Umm…”

Callum paused, second sandwich halfway in his mouth. “Hah?”

“You…smell.”

Rayla sniffed the air delicately. Almost didn’t make a face. 

“I get the hint", Callum deadpanned, setting his sandwich back on the platter. Tossing his jacket on the bed with a slight ‘thump' from the coin-purse, he sat, stripping off his boots and stockings, pulled his tunic off over his head, and padded out the lake doors, across the deck, and down the wooden stairs, intent on the dock stretching out into the lake below.

“I’d think twice", Iona called from the rail.

Callum looked up, curious.

“Slaughterfish. I’ve seen them strip a deer to the bone in minutes.”

Callum paled. 

“They make good eating though", Iona mused. 

“Ye see?”, Rayla laughed, standing on the deck, arms crossed, hood thrown back. “Ah always said ye cannae trust water deeper than yer ankles!”

Iona smiled, tight lipped. “I’ll show you where we keep the tub. You can draw the bath water from the lake", she instructed Rayla. “We'll take turns.”

*-*-*

It was late afternoon, the sun providing a riot of red, amber, and gold as it set. 

The tub had been filled and emptied of hot water three times, the inhabitants cycling through the bath in various degrees of personal comfort and privacy, Iona being un-phased by personal nudity, and Sheila the most shy. The last round of hot water was used to soak and scrub most of their clothing, which were then left to hang in the lake breeze to dry.

Sitting around the table on the deck, sharing a platter of sliced apples and cheese, tankards of ale or cider in hand, the motley assemblage relaxed. Callum had retrieved the coin pouch, and was making his third attempt at counting the amount.

Sighing in mild frustration, Sheila nudged Callum aside. “Let me do it”, one hand cupped under the table edge as she used the index finger of the other to quickly flick ten coins into the waiting hand, stacking them, repeating the task until forty neatly arranged columns of coins glinted in the evening light. “Four hundred septims", Sheila nodded with a satisfied smile.

Callum thought for a moment, then pushed one hundred of the coins toward Iona. “Thank you for letting us stay here.” 

Iona nodded. “My Lord will thank you in due course.” 

“What do we do with the rest?”, Claudia asked.

Callum pushed a hundred coins towards Sheila. “Can you help Claudia find some clothes that won’t get her killed?”

“And the rest?”, Rayla inquired.

“Save them. For now”, Callum nodded, refilling the coin pouch. “I’m going back to Balimund's tomorrow.”

*-*-*

A heavy cord had been strung in the main room, and their clothes hung over it to finish drying in the warm air from the fireplace overnight. Claudia had followed Sheila and Iona below stairs, lantern and leather-bound volume in hand.

Callum collapsed, face down in the bed with a pronounced groan, acknowledging his abused and protesting muscles. After a moment, he struggled to pull the bedclothes up over his hips.

Rayla flipped them back down.

“Wha—", Callum jumped slightly.

“Hush, ye", Rayla said, straddling Callum’s hips and upper legs. “Ye spent the day whackin' away wi' an axe, and now ye've gone all stiff. If ah don’t tend te ye, ye'll be stiff as a plank come the dawn.”

“Being stiff in the morning isn’t what I’m worried about right now", Callum muttered, glad his face was in the pillow. Wisps of the silky hair at the juncture of Rayla's shapely thighs almost tickled Callum’s skin as she began to rub and knead his back, neck, and shoulders with her three-fingered hands, working her way from the nape of his neck to his hips.

Callum groaned in relief and almost sybaritic pleasure as Rayla worked the knots and aches out of his muscles. He felt her lean close to whisper in his ear.

“Ye have te roll over if ye want me te do yer front…”

Callum blushed fiercely. “That…might not be such a great idea. Something's, umm…come up…”

“Oh, really?”, Rayla husked. “Ah'm a big girl. Ah think ah can handle it…”

“I don’t know if I can!”, Callum gulped.

“Oh, roll over, ye daft ninny", Rayla ordered, shifting, lifting on one leg. Callum rolled, and Rayla sat on his thighs again. She grinned in the lamplight, tucking a strand of snow-white hair behind one delicately pointed ear. “Oh my…”

Callum blinked, staring at Rayla. Her pale skin, her curves, her hair, her incredible eyes. He could fall into those eyes, drown in them, perish happily.

Rayla smiled, tilting her head to one side. “Yes?”

Callum’s hands drifted to her trim waist, reveling in the silky softness of her skin. “By all the Primal forces, you’re beautiful…” Softly spoken. Reverent.

Rayla blushed, looking away. “Ah'm nae beauty…”

Callum’s hand drifted to the back of her neck, drawing her down into a breathless kiss, her breasts pressing soft, supple weight into his chest.

“Yes, you are…”, whispered.

Violet eyes stared into green, darting, searching, scared, supporting herself, hands on either side of his head. “Callum, ah love ye. Truly. But…ah don’t know if—if ah'm ready te… te…”

Callum kissed her again. “It’s alright, Rayla.”

Rayla kissed him back. “Nae the now. Nae tonight. But…mebbe soon. Verra soon.”

Callum ran a finger gently down her spine, eliciting a pleasurable shiver.

“Ohhh, that’s…nice", Rayla sighed. “Ah like that…”


	4. Adaptation

Claudia looked up from her borrowed copy of ‘A Children’s Anuad' as Sheila entered the guest room, carrying a double armful of clothing.

“I hope I got your size right", Sheila grinned, dropping her burden on the bed, pawing through the pile to hand Claudia a pair of soft braes. “Here, get dressed.”

Claudia set aside her reading, stood and pulled the braes into place under her borrowed nightshirt, then slipped her arms out of the sleeves, pulling the nightshirt off over her head, accepting the bleached chemise and putting it on. Finely woven stockings secured by ribbon garters, then Claudia's boots. The deep purplish-blue overgown with it’s front split skirt was next, followed by a front-lacing corset of soft black leather, that put her ‘feminine charms’ nicely on display.

Claudia brushed out her waist length hair, and Sheila tied it back in a loose ponytail with a string of black leather lacing.

“Are you going to go adventuring?”, Sheila inquired, concerned.

Claudia shrugged. “We'll have to, if we ever want to find our way home.”

“Do you have family? Wait, that was a dumb question…”

“My brother, Soren", Claudia nodded. “And my…father.”

“Trouble at home?” Genuine concern.

“Does starting a war count?”, Claudia frowned. “Maybe…maybe Callum was right…” She crossed her arms, defensive, unsure.

Sheila sat on the bed, lightly gripping the frame with both hands, looking at the floor. “I’m…all alone. I hate it. My brother, Bobby…he died.” She wiped away a tear. “He—it was a stupid—God, I wish we’d never gone on that stupid ride!!”

Claudia sat beside Sheila, hands folded in her lap. Silent for a moment as Sheila quietly wept. 

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Sheila sniffled, sighed. “ ‘S not your fault.“

“A…ride? How would travelling on horseback transport you between worlds?”, Claudia inquired.

“It was an amusement park ride. ‘Dungeons and Dragons' themed—”

Claudia held up a hand. “ ‘Amusement park’ ?”

“Oh. Right. I keep forgetting…”, Sheila sighed. “I’m from San Diego, on Earth. We have tee-vees, and jet planes, and microwave ovens…and none of that means a thing to you, right?”

Claudia shook her head.

“I can’t go home, and I’m going slowly crazy here", Sheila pouted. “At least Gowan was, is, nice to me…”

“Gowan?”

“The Thane. He, umm, caught me trying to break in to Honeyside", Sheila confessed. “I was, uh, kinda working with the Thieves Guild at the time…and he, umm, well, I work for him now. Snooping mostly.” 

Claudia picked at a fingernail. “How…long since…?”

Sheila sighed. “It was nineteen eighty-three when we went on that stupid ride. Me, Bobby, Hank, Eric, Diana, and Presto, uh, Albert”, she explained. “Something…happened…some kind of warp or tear In the universe, and we got dumped in this place called the Realm. Three moons, monsters, dragons, and us supposed to be heroes.”

Sheila stared out the door of the room.

“Hank was the first to…”, Sheila hesitated. “To die. Two years after we were dumped in the Realm. Defending a village in a mountain pass. He thought his stupid magic bow would win the day.” She paused, a bitter frown on her face. It looked wrong on her. “It didn’t stop the goblins from swarming him, and ripping him to pieces. Eric, the coward, ran away, just like he always did.”

Claudia fidgeted, not sure how to respond as Sheila unburdened herself.

“Bobby…Bobby looked up to Hank, like a big brother, you know?”, Sheila glanced at Claudia, who nodded. “So, anyway, Bobby wanted to avenge Hank. He had this big club, could cause earthquakes and stuff with it if he hit the ground. So he did.”

Sheila stared out the doorway, looking into her memory, tears running down her cheeks. “Bobby brought down the mountainside on the goblins. And himself. No way he could have survived.” Sheila sniffled, wiping away tears with her hand. “So…that’s—that’s when I stopped caring about finding a way home. I wandered into a cave that was supposed to be haunted, and…wound up here. I don’t know what happened to Diana or Presto.”

A deep, shuddering sigh. “So that’s how a crazy girl wound up trying to rob a house in Riften.”

Claudia patted Sheila's hand, comforting her. “You’re not crazy.”

“God, I hate crying”, Sheila sniffled. ”I get all puffy…” 

*-*-*

Watching Callum reduce larger pieces of wood to smaller, more useable sizes was entertaining. But only to a point. 

Rayla was restless, sitting, left ankle tucked under the opposite knee which she rested her right forearm on, leaning on her left arm. Up out of sight, she'd thrown her hood back to enjoy the cool breeze in her hair. In the marketplace outside the Bee and Barb, she could hear a penitent espousing his doctrine, something about a goddess of love.

Curiosity piqued, she rolled to her feet, creeping silently, cautiously to the edge of the roof to peer over and observe the apostle directly. The market patrons ignored his impassioned exhortations, but she heard enough to be mildly curious about this Temple of Mara. Rayla flipped her hood into place, returned to her chosen access to the rooftop from the alley below, scouting for unwanted witnesses.

All clear.

Rayla gripped the fascia board, rolling forward to drop neatly, silently into the shadows below.

‘Callum can’t get intae any trouble if ah take jest a few minutes fer me-self…’, Rayla thought, sauntering casually out of the alley’s far end, away from the marketplace.

Over a bridge that led directly to the steps up to the steepled, two-storied stave and batten building of impressive size that occupied a masterfully wrought dry-stone foundation. The elegant statue of an attractive woman, hands spread in welcoming benediction, her head adorned with a long, veil-like scarf, stood at the foot of the steps, gleaming in the sun.

Rayla trotted up the well-travelled steps, opening the temple door, and slipped inside, stepping to the left to wait, out of the way , while her eyes adjusted. Well-fitted, planed planks gone golden with age reached up to the open timber-frame rafters that supported the wood-shingled roof and steeple cupola.

A duplicate of the statue outside, this one gilded, stood before two ranks of pews for the faithful to be seated in during rituals and ceremonies. A low altar, scattered with blossoms from local plants held pride of place in front of the statue. A doorway to the left led to private quarters for the clergy, one of whom was tending to the altar, singing in a quiet, pleasant tone.

Rayla stood for a moment. It was…peaceful. She felt herself actually relaxing.

“Come in, child", the priestess greeted her. “All are welcome in the temple of Mara.”

Rayla jumped slightly, then wandered down the aisle between the pews, sitting in the front pew at her left, legs tucked beneath her, hands folded in her lap.

The priestess in her hooded, deep amber robe trimmed with cloth-of-gold, came and sat beside Rayla, sweeping back her hood. “I am Dinya Balu, priestess of Mara.”

Rayla stared. “Yer an elf!”

Dinya Balu threw back her head, laughing in honest delight. “Since the day I was born in Morrowind.”

“But…yer skin!! It's…blue!”

“Of course it is!”, Dinya Balu grinned. “What other colour would a Dunmer be?”

“Ah—ah jest never expected te see an elf…in a human temple", Rayla explained, astounded.

Dinya Balu smiled. “Lady Mara welcomes all who enter with love in their heart.” 

Rayla felt a kiss of heat color her pale cheeks.

“Ye…might say ah have love in me heart…”, she confessed. “But…it’s complicated.”

“Lady Mara will see your love triumph over your obstacles”, Dinya Balu advised. “If your love is true and honest. Does your beloved know of your feelings?”

Rayla nodded. “Thet he does. And he loves me in return. Jest as much. Ah—we, would die for each other.”

“Then Lady Mara would bless your union”, the priestess nodded.

“Ah…ah think yer Lady Mara might frown upon any union between me and Callum…”

“Why? Is he pledged, promised, or sworn to another?”, Dinya Balu inquired.

Rayla shook her head. “Nae. Nothin' so simple. He's human. Ah'm…not.”

Rayla swept back her hood.

Silence for a handful of heartbeats.

Then Dinya Balu laughed.

“Dear child, my own husband, father of my beloved daughter, is himself human! And a Redguard of Hammerfell no less!”, the priestess announced in delight. “Lady Mara is a celebration of love in all forms, the shape of the soul matters not to her!” 

Rayla stared. Then started laughing, shoulders shaking in relief. Laughing until tears ran down her face, tension she didn’t know she'd been carrying falling away.

“And here…here ah were so worried me wants, me desires were improper!”, Rayla sighed, relieved. She stood. “Thank ye. Truly.”

Dinya Balu stood, laid a hand on Rayla's shoulder. “May the blessings of Mara be upon you, and the one you love.”

Rayla tugged her hood back into place. “Thank ye.”

*-*-*

The afternoon had become overcast, the light grey, shrouding Riften in shades of blue. 

Life had never looked more enticing or glorious.

Rayla walked the streets, smiling, thumbs tucked in her belt, breathing in the cool, damp air, knowing a storm was coming. Life-giving rain to wash away the grime and troubles of the world. She followed the canal, thoughts far away, until she crossed the footbridge that led to Honeyside, swinging open the door with a smile.

“Haloo, Callum me lov—"

Callum sat at the table, being tended by Claudia, Sheila standing near by. His right eye was blackened, swollen shut, lips puffy, split and oozing blood, a thread of the same scarlet trickling from his nose, clothing disheveled and filthy. Knuckles of both hands swollen and bruised.

Rayla froze. 

“You should see the other guy", Callum mumbled.


	5. Adversary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Graphic description of horrific death by immolation.

Chill rain sheeted out of the leaden sky, chips and shards of wood spinning and fluttering through the air, propelled by twin flickering blades as Rayla methodically, meticulously reduced a head-high, leg-thick long-dead standing poplar snag to ruin in a focused, self-recriminatory rage, her tears invisible in the downpour, snow-white hair plastered to her scalp.

“You’ll dull or chip your blades if you keep that up”, the rolling burr of the woman's voice advised.

Rayla whirled, cat-like, left-hand blade leading a feint, right-hand blade whipping, sighing through the sodden air at throat height, the razor-sharp tip stopping a heartbeat short of the imposing blonde woman's skin.

“Impressive”, the female warrior complimented calmly. “Impeccable form. Precise control.”

“What de ye want?”, Rayla hissed, glaring at the woman. 

Not even a blink.

“Do you want vengeance on those who hurt your lover?”

“Who told ye thet?” Quiet menace in Rayla's voice, promising immanent violence if she was given an incorrect or insulting answer. Something nagged at Rayla, the woman almost vaguely familiar.

“A certain red-head of our mutual acquaintance”, smirked the swordswoman.

Rayla was only slightly less annoyed.

“Your piebald friend-"

“She’s nae me friend!”, Rayla snapped, glowering.

A conciliatory nod. “Your ‘companion' then, asked that you return to Honeyside, as young Callum is less the worse for wear after Sheila the Unseen sent for Maramal from the Temple of Mara.”

“Is…is Callum alright?” Rayla inquired, worry etched in her face. 

“Never better, after Maramal laid healing hands upon him!”

Rayla’s arms dropped to her sides, swords dangling in her hands. “He would nae have been injured in the first place if ah had jest kept watch…”

The woman laughed. “Be that as it may, I hear from the town watch your Callum fought like a saber-cat in defense of the smith, Balimund! He even tipped one of the Thieves Guild brigands into the forge!”

Rayla stared at the woman like she’d grown a third head. “Callum what now?”

“As my da always said”, the blonde woman grinned, “Build a man a fire, he’s warm for a day. Set a man on fire, he’s warm for life!” 

It wasn’t funny. It really wasn’t. But Rayla laughed anyway, partly in shock, mostly at the horrific pun, and a little bit knowing Callum had given a good account of himself in the fight.

Chuckling, the woman extended a hand. “I'm known as Mjoll the Lioness. And I’d be happy to spar and train with such a fellow swordswoman, if you're ever of a mood.” 

Rayla flick-folded her twin swords, stowing them in her belt, and shook the extended hand, introducing herself in turn.

“That’s a neat trick with the blades, very handy in tight quarters. Places like the Ratway”, Mjoll nodded. “Find me at the Bee and Barb if you’d be seeking some vengeance. The Thieves Guild has gone too long without a settling of accounts in this city for their actions. Keerava for one, would thank you.”

“Keerava bein’…?”, Rayla inquired.

Mjoll grinned. “The Argonian behind the bar. Who’s been bullied and beaten by those bravos more than once.”

Rayla blinked. So that’s what the draconic looking being was.

“Ah'd best be seein' te Callum…”, Rayla nodded to Mjoll.

“Glad to see you have the sense to come in from the cold rain”, the warrior agreed.

A quick wave of farewell, and Rayla trotted along the path that led to the stairs up to Honeyside's deck, opening the lake-side door to enter, soaking wet.

“No!”, Iona barked. “I’ll not have you dripping across my floors as you come! Strip off where you stand! Sheila, take the silly wench a spare rag to dry herself with!” Claudia pealing laughter at Iona's heartfelt admonishment of her rival.

“Ah'm nae as wet as ye think", Rayla grumbled, but complied.

Sheila pressed a large soft, fuzzy cloth into Rayla's hands, blushing slightly at her nudity, placing a nightgown on the bed. “We’ve got a fondue going, if you’re hungry.”

Rubbing her white hair vigorously to dry it, Rayla wondered what a ‘fon-doo' was, and why she would want to eat one.

Dressed in the nightgown, Rayla wandered into the main room to see a semi-circle of chairs and blankets arranged before the flickering hearth, Iona, Sheila, and Claudia in pale nightgowns matching the one Rayla now wore, Callum in a baggy, over-large tunic and soft trousers. It was…cozy. Comfortable.

A small cauldron containing a thick, almost gooey sauce simmering over the heat, watching as Callum used a long, slender miniature fork to dip a bite-sized chunk of bread in the substance, drawing up the morsel coated in what Rayla realized was melted cheese, trailing clinging strands. Her stomach rumbled alarmingly, even as her heart sang relief looking at Callum.

Callum. Not a mark or bruise on him. Who grinned at her, holding out the morsel to her in offering.

‘Oh, Callum’, Rayla thought to herself, trying vainly to hold back tears. ‘Ah dinnae deserve ye…’

“Ah'm so glad yer alright, Callum", Rayla murmured, accepting the proffered bite of food, Claudia rolling her eyes at the explicit romance of the gesture.

Callum grinned. “Maramal called it one of the blessings of Mara. It’s magic, Rayla! Magic unlike anything we’ve ever seen! And…I think I might be able to learn it, to cast it!”

Rayla had been savoring the taste of the cheesy bite, actually desiring another. Or several more. “Is it safe? ‘Tis nae like dark magic?”

Callum shook his head. “Not a bit! Magic here harnesses the ambient energy of the world, the mage directing its effects!”

“Just think of the possibilities!”, Claudia interjected enthusiastically.

“Thet's what worries me", Rayla argued. “Ah know how some folk use magic, usually nae te good intent…”

Claudia pouted, spearing a piece of bread and petulantly drowning it in melted cheese. “You’re no fun!”

“Callum seems te think ah'm all kinds of ‘fun'…”, Rayla sniped.

“If you two girls don’t stop”, Iona growled, “You’ll both be sleeping out in the garden!”

Sheila turned to Rayla. “Claudia tells me you’re probably going to be adventuring, looking for a way home.”

Rayla nodded, cautious.

“I don’t know you, any of you, very well, or why or how you came to be in Skyrim. But please be careful”, Sheila said. “Not long after I arrived here, and met Gowan—”

“The Thane, our absent host”, Claudia interjected.

Sheila stuck her tongue out at Claudia, then continued. “Gowan and I went looking for the Shadow Stone, one of the thirteen standing stones in Skyrim that can grant people certain abilities. That’s when I met a saber-cat. And almost died.”

“Bad?”, Callum inquired.

Sheila stood, hiking up her nightgown to expose three ragged pale scars on her left flank and upper thigh. “You tell me. Those damned cats are why I stick close to the city.” She let the hem of the nightgown fall.

“Did you find the Shadow Stone?”, Claudia inquired.

Sheila nodded.

“What ability did you receive, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Sheila vanished.

“I can turn invisible for about a minute, once a day”, came Sheila's voice from mid-air.

“She usually uses it to sneak out of the house", Iona observed, deadpan. “And speaking of trouble, it’s very likely Callum now has a Thieves Guild bounty on his head. As much as I’m enjoying the company, it might be best if the three of you think about moving on soon.”

Callum swallowed nervously. “B-bounty? Why?!”

Iona shrugged. “Some resistance is expected, even tolerated. You fought back, actually stopped them, and in the process, showed the city that the thieves are not invincible.”

Callum sat for a moment, pondering the ramifications. “I’m a dead man.”

Rayla stood, moving to collect her still damp clothes and began dressing.

“What are you doing, Rayla?!”, Callum demanded, rising to follow her, quiet and worried.

She stared him in the eye, not challenging him, regarding him as an equal. “Ye are me love an' me life, Callum o’ Katolis. Yer brilliant, kind, carin', an' more wonderful than ah could ever ask fer or deserve. But ye cannae fight yer way outa a wet sack.”

Rayla stowed her blades, and tucked a small pouch of coins in her belt. “Ah trained me entire life fer this, things lahk this. Let me do mah job.”

“You come back to me", Callum ordered. “If you die, I’ll never forgive you, and I’ll haunt you in the afterlife!” A searing, promise-filled kiss.

Rayla passed through the house, about to open the doors to the city, when Iona asked: “Would you like a shield-sib at your back?”

A pause.

“Nae.” Rayla raised her hood. “Ah have help already waitin'…”

*-*-*

Mjoll the Lioness sat alone at the only table that allowed an unobstructed view of the entire common room of the Bee and Barb, watching the comings and goings, mentally identifying and cataloging the comings and goings of the patrons, who sat with whom, who spoke to whom. And who avoided whom.

She’d walked the length and breadth of Skyrim, delved into the outerworks of the legendary Blackreach Depths, and even journeyed to Hammerfell and Cyrodil. And nothing, anywhere in her travels, had prepared her for the intrigue and treachery of the city of Riften. Treachery that had stolen the life of her friend, Aerin, who had saved her after she'd almost died in Mzinschaleft.

Mjoll never touched the drink she ordered, reasoning it was possible that it would be poisoned, given her past hostile interactions with the Thieves’ Guild. But oh, by the Divines, the temptation to drown her sorrows in drink was there.

The southern door to the common room opened, admitting the lithe form of the young woman Mjoll had interacted with earlier in the day. Mjoll recalled her name. Rayla, watching as the hooded figure surveyed the room, searching for…

Their eyes met.

Mjoll had the briefest sensation that she was no longer the most dangerous person in the room. The sensation wasn’t unsettling. It was terrifying.

Rayla crossed the room, stopping at Mjoll's table.

“Who am ah lookin' fer?” 

Mjoll flicked her chin, pointing at a man whose auburn hair fell to his shoulders, bright green eyes above a mouth graced with a liar's practiced smile, framed by a neatly trimmed moustache and beard. His faded black clothing was made of linen canvas, with plates of leather hardened by oil and wax.

“His name is Brynjolf”, Mjoll muttered. “Don’t believe the smile and good-fellow-well-met behavior. He’s as cold-hearted as a draugr, and more devious than a hag-raven. Rumor says he ascended to guild leadership and Nightingale status after murdering the previous guildmaster.”

Rayla scoffed. “Nightingale, eh? Ah’l jest have te pluck his feathers…”

“Be careful!”, Mjoll hissed. “If even a handful of the tales I've heard are true, if Brynjolf is a Nightingale, he’s extremely dangerous.”

Rayla paused, appraising her quarry. “Ah think ah need a drink. Te bolster me nerves.” And with that, she strode up to the bar.

“Yer not Keerava", Rayla noted.

“No, you address Talen-Jei", the rainbow crested Argonian told Rayla. “What can I get you?”

“What’s yer strongest, most potent drink?”

“That would be a Cliff Racer", Talen-Jei purred. “Made with Firebrand Wine, Cyrodillic Brandy, Flin, and Sujamma.”

“Sounds delightful. Ah’ll take one!” Coins exchanged hands, and Rayla waited while Talen-Jei compounded the beverage.

Rayla could smell, practically see the vapors of potent alcohol hovering above the surface of the drink. “Perfect!”

Talen-Jei smirked, pointed teeth gleaming. “Your funeral.”

Rayla casually wandered the room, working her way closer to the convivial criminal kingpin.

Brynjolf looked up at the slender young woman who hovered nearby. “Something I can help you with, my darling?”

Rayla seethed. “Ah'm lookin' te undertake a life o' swindlin', betrayal, backstabbin', and deceit. And ah hear tell yer th' lowlife scum who leads the pack o' curs responsible fer such in this fine city”, she smiled innocently as Brynjolf surged to his feet. “Ah also hear tell yer a Nightingale…”

“Girlie, I’m gonna cut you a new—“

Rayla interrupted him by suddenly holding up a single finger in his face as she took a deep draught of the Cliff Racer.

“Wha—“, Brynjolf almost said, before Rayla deliberately spewed a fine mist in his face, soaking his beard and hair, coating his armored clothing in the concoction. He had no time to react, the alcohol stinging his eyes, blinding him, before Rayla swept up a lit lantern from a table, shattering it on him.

In a heartbeat, Brynjolf was engulfed in a sheet of blue-orange flame, his beard and hair singeing away, face crisping, cracking, seeping fat that fed the fire, the oil and wax impregnating his protection igniting.

Brynjolf made the fatal error of trying to scream, inhaling living flame, searing his lungs.

A moaning human torch fled, stumbling, smashing through the southern doors of the Bee and Barb, out into the stormy night, flailing, wailing, moaning, wreathed in hell, flipping over the railing that guarded the canal, falling like a doomed shooting star, crashing into the deckboards of the Ratway, just missing the potentially life-saving plunge into noisome depths of the canal, lying there, burning. Dying.

“It seems the Nightingale became a phoenix”, Rayla deadpanned.

She scanned the silent room, flicking out her swords, unfolding them into twin deadly bladed hooks.

“De any o' Brynjolf's allies have a need fer vengeance?”

Silence.


	6. Audience

Callum hadn’t slept well.

Rayla had returned from her task, unharmed, but silent. Tense. Claudia had taken one look and scurried below, book and lantern in hand. The beautiful, confident Moonshadow Elf young woman he loved had undressed without a word, slipping into the soft nightgown worn earlier in the evening, then laying in bed on her left side, covers pulled up to her chin, staring at the wall in the light of the single goathorn lamp.

Callum slid into the bed behind and beside her, laying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

He didn’t touch Rayla. He didn’t dare disturb her silent introspection. So Callum lay there, all night, supporting her by letting her know he was there, but not intruding on her thoughts.

Pounding on the door of Honeyside woke Callum, matching the pounding in his head. He rolled over and staggered out of bed, intent on opening the door when he was shouldered aside by Iona, who'd come charging up from below to answer the intrusion.

“Why do you disturb us?!”, Iona barked at the imposing leader of the armored squad of Riften town guards.

Unmid Snow-Shod, clad in his gilded Altmer plate armor, dark red hair combed and stiffened in the chupryna crest common to Stormcloak bravos, stared indifferently at the whip-thin house steward. “Jarl Laila has ordered that the new-comers be brought before her. As Huscarl, you know we are sworn to carry out our orders.”

“Fine.” Iona shut the door in Unmid's face, turning to look at Callum. 

“Wake your woman, both of you make yourselves presentable”, Iona instructed. 

Callum blinked, unsettled and defensive. “What about Claudia?”

Iona stood there in her nightshirt, hand on her hip, thinking for a moment. “Only you and Rayla have been seen coming and going from Honeyside. What is not seen is not seen. Do you understand?”

Callum nodded. “Claudia hasn’t been out in public.”

“Exactly!”

The young mage went to wake his lady.

“Rayla… c'mon. We have to get dressed", he gently shook her shoulder.

“Go ‘way!”

“I can’t” Callum sighed. “There's guardsmen outside—”

“Ah dinnae care!”

Callum squatted beside the bed so he could look into Rayla's violet eyes. “I know why you're upset. I do. Believe me. But right now, there’s a dozen armed men outside, and I’d really rather not become an unwelcome guest by having them force their way in to drag us out, alright?”

A huff of deep annoyance from beneath the quilts and duvet. “Fine.”

Callum knew Rayla was anything but.

*-*-*

Walking through the streets of Riften, preceded by the Jarl's own bodyguard, and escorted by a troop of seasoned warriors was possibly one of the most intimidating and unnerving experiences in Callum's life. As far as Callum could determine, he and Rayla were not under arrest, but rather being ordered to attend an audience with the city's ruling elite.

On the bright side, the guards had made no attempt to relieve Rayla of her twin folding swords. That would have started a fight for sure. As it was, Rayla kept glancing around, constantly on guard, evaluating faces and behavior of people as they stood aside to allow the troupe to pass.

“Ah dinnae like bein' so out in th' open…”, Rayla muttered.

Callum sighed, trying vainly to calm his own jangled nerves. “Well, I guess we shouldn’t have made the waves we did.”

“Oh yeh, pokin' fun at me fear o' water while we’re on our way to Xadia knows what", Rayla fumed. “First class plan, thet...”

Callum stared at the cobbles as they walked, remaining silent. Maybe going to the block wouldn't be as bad as having Rayla mad at him… 

Mistveil Keep loomed above them through decorative but functional wrought iron gates, the Temple of Mara's steeple just visible to the left, beyond the buttressed outer breastwork defences. Callum could almost admire the artistry of the masonry used to construct the imposing fortress.

“Let’s not lollygag", Unmid grumbled, seeing his charges hesitate. “Jarl Laila is a busy woman.”

Rayla glanced at Callum as they climbed the steps to the bastion’s imposing metal bound double doors, easily twice as tall as Unmid. “What's ‘lollygagging', an’ why does it sound rude?”

Callum shrugged. “I have no idea.”

The doors swung wide, and they were escorted into the presence of Jarl Laila Law-Giver.

The great hall of Mistveil Keep was dominated by the immense horseshoe shaped dining table before the raised dais which supported the elaborately carved wooden throne Jarl Laila occupied with regal dignity, ginger hair restrained by a golden circlet, a red tabard embroidered with gold thread over a blue-grey gown. The feasting table almost groaned under it's load of food: whole roast pheasant, steaming joints of meat, platters of pan-seared fish, wheels of cheese, and bowls full of baked root vegetables, all slightly amber-gold in the keep's lamp and candle-light.

Callum and Rayla were halted before the throne, Jarl Laila regarding them calmly, leaning almost casually on one arm, hand to her cheek as she eyed the pair.

“So these are the ones, who in a single day, did more to end the threat of the Thieves Guild than my entire guard have accomplished in two years!”, the noblewoman intoned. “Am I correct in my understanding, Anuriel?”

A pale haired, amber-skinned elf in green quilted formal court robes at Jarl Laila’s left hand nodded before speaking. “That is correct, my Jarl", she said. “The maiden reportedly slew Brynjolf with a breath of flame before even drawing her blades.”

Jarl Laila trilled delighted laughter. “And I understand the young man threw another member of the Thieves Guild into Balimund's forge!”

“Also correct, my liege", Anuriel confirmed.

Jarl Laila grinned. “Then by my right as Jarl of the Rift, and Riften, I hail these two as heroes, granting them free and unfettered passage throughout my lands, these tokens of appreciation from the armory, and a small reward for a job well done!”

Servants stepped forward, carrying silver trays each bearing a sheathed blade and a bulging silk coin purse.

“I also understand you have been staying at the house of my Thane", the Jarl observed.

Callum nodded jerkily, sketching a bow. “Yes'm! I mean, yes, my lady! I mean we have, thankyouverymuchforthehospitality!”, he blurted, blushing furiously. 

“Do you have any requests of the Jarl before you are dismissed?”, Anuriel said, her tone suggesting there had better not be.

“Is…is there any place, or someone I can talk to about, umm, learning magic?", Callum inquired hesitantly, drawing a disapproving glare from the Jarl's steward, and a subtle elbow in the ribs from Rayla.

“Behave!”, the former assassin hissed.

The Jarl smiled indulgently at Callum's mild impertinence. “Speak with my court mage, Wylandriah. Now, if there are no further pressing matters, I wish to dine.” The noblewoman rose from her throne and descended to the seat of honor at the dining table, ignoring Callum and Rayla.

“I’ll show you out", Anuriel ordered. “This way, please…”, and began striding toward the doors, Unmid Snow-Shod not so subtly encouraging them to follow the steward.

“But the court mage…?”, Callum pleaded.

Anuriel paused, fists clenched at waist height. “I live to serve", she lied, then led Callum to a doorway.

“Wylandriah!”, the Jarl's steward barked. “You have a guest!” 

A crash of shattering crockery, clattering metal, and creative invective greeted Anuriel's announcement. “Why do you always insist on interrupting me?!” The diminutive mage in her hooded black robes stalked over, bright eyes glaring at Callum.

“What do you want? Why are you here?”, Wylandriah demanded.

“I'd…like to learn magic?”, Callum gulped.

The mage’s demeanor changed instantly. “A fellow practitioner of the arcane arts? Wonderful! I think I have a few old spell tomes lying around…”

The unusual individual rummaged through piles of books and incunabula, searching. “Here you go", she said. “Just some basic instruction you understand: Candlelight, Flames, and Healing. Those should be enough to get you started! And at a very reasonable price. Only eighty septims for all of them! ”

“Oh, umm…”, Callum nodded, uncertain, counting out the coins. “Uh…thank you?”

Rayla leaned against the doorpost. “Done yer shoppin' then, lover?”, she teased, smiling as Callum's ears reddened.

Callum sighed, accepting his fate, books balanced on his hip, the Jarl's gifted blade tucked through his belt. “Yes. Can we go now?”

*-*-*

The lake-side windows of Honeyside were open, admitting air and light, Callum absorbed in reading the spellbook for healing magic. 

Laying on the bed, face up, Rayla inspected the weapon she'd been given. Hilt and blade together as long as her forearm and extended hand, the blade itself a marvel of pattern-welded steel that suggested flickers of flame in the forging, almost as wide as her three fingers, tapering to a wicked piercing tip. The cross-guard was a thumb-sized wafer of steel with decorative notches filed in it, and the grip of stranded wire wrapped around leather over solid dark wood. The crossed dagger blazon of Riften had been stamped into the blade close to the hilt.

Rayla thought she saw a faint glimmer of pale frosty blue luminosity tracing along the blade.

Callum let out a cry of triumph and understanding. “That's how you do it!”

Rayla glanced up, then stared, dumbstruck by the golden lambency tracing a glowing fog around Callum's left hand. 

“Ye can…? Callum, which one of the Primals have ye tapped intae?! What kin ye do?!”

Callum grinned. “That's just it! I’m not! This is…I’m…it’s life itself, Rayla! The life all around us, the world! And…I could walk around with this spell ready all day, and never have to worry about exhausting myself until I actually cast it! I can heal myself of almost any injury! If I learn the spell Maramal used, I can heal you too!”

Rayla sheathed her new dagger, setting it aside on the bed, rising to stare at Callum's hand, hesitant, finger-tips almost not quite touching the glimmering golden tracery. “Thet's amazin’!”

“What can Callum d—?”, Claudia stopped at the top of the stairs, staring. “What in the world…?” She bustled over, almost shoving Rayla aside. “How—where did you learn to do this?! How long have you been practicing?! Who taught you this?!” 

Callum glanced up, sheepish. “I…read how to do it from this book? That I bought from the court wizard this morning?”

“What?! Give me that book!!”, Claudia howled.

Callum tossed the golden bound volume embossed with an avian motif to his former crush. “All yours.”

Claudia flipped open the cover, eyes scanning. She frowned. Flipped some pages, the frown deepening to a scowl. More pages flipped, Claudia becoming angry. She threw the book at Callum, who dodged it. “It's blank! Not one word! That was a dirty trick, Callum!!”

Snatching up the fallen volume, Rayla scanned the work. “She’s right, Callum. Nae even a smudge!”

Taking the book back, Callum examined it. “Huh.” He regarded the remaining two books with speculation. “Clauds? You know a light spell, right?”

Annoyed, but curious, Claudia nodded. 

“Callum?”, Rayla cautioned. “Ye've got thet look in yer eye. Wha' are ye plannin'?”

The young mage held up a russet book emblazoned with a bare tree coming into full leaf. “This is for a different kind of light spell from yours. I think. So if I learn it, and the spell book erases itself, we'll have learned something about this world, right?”

Claudia nodded cautious agreement. “It just seems unfair you learn two spells in one day, when it took me weeks of practice to learn a basic illumination cantrip.”

“You wanna try with this one?” Callum held up a charcoal grey tome, decorated with a phantasmal hand.

“Thet’s the ‘flame' spell, Callum“, Rayla observed. “De ye think it’s wise lettin' witchy-britches learn a spell thet could, ye know, be used tae kill us!”

“Oh, I could do that anytime I want", Claudia casually remarked.

“Claudia!”, Callum yelled.

“Not that I want to", Claudia apologised hastily. “Well, not seriously want to. And besides, we're in this together…?”

Rayla merely groaned in barely suppressed frustration.

Claudia sighed dramatically. “Alright, alright. I guess. We can find other spell books. Right?”

Callum nodded.

“If you three are quite finished, I’d like to start cooking”, Iona quipped from behind Claudia on the stairs. “That is unless you want to try whatever hearth disaster Sheila is planning to commit when she returns from the marketplace…”

*-*-*

The evening repast was not quite the disaster predicted so gloomily by the steward of Honeyside. It had actually been quite respectable. Small loaves of bread, split sideways, upon which Sheila had laid rounds of minced beef mixed with ground pine nuts and then fried on a griddle, flavored with more of Sheila's ‘mayo' and a pleasantly warm mustard sauce, and garnished with a slice of melted cheese and another of an unfamiliar earthy, tangy red fruit that contained a myriad of seeds. When Rayla explained she preferred not to eat meat, Sheila made what she called a ‘grilled cheese sandwich' without complaint.

Claudia ate two of the ‘cheez-birg-urs', almost devouring them. Iona nodded, calling them acceptable. Callum managed one, and idly wondered what a ‘sandwich' made of the red fruit and the ‘mayo’ would be like.

Rayla sat back in her chair, a look of mild bliss on her face after eating. “Those were wonderful…”, she thanked Sheila.

Tankards of ale and cider were raised in an appreciative toast to the culinary effort. 

The evening light was fading to blue darkness, and Iona closed the windows against the encroaching night. Callum asked Iona if he could go out onto the deck above the lake for a moment, tipping his head to invite Rayla to follow him.

Outside, Callum stood, staring at the sky. 

A riot of red, yellow, green, and orange sheeted and rippled in front of the stars, the two moons shining above.

Rayla stared, entranced.

Callum's fingers sought her hand, fingers intertwining.

“It wouldn’t be so bad, would it?, Callum said quietly. “I mean, if we could never get home…?”

Rayla shook her head, white hair flickering in the cool breeze. “It would nae at thet", she breathed.

Her grip tightened on Callum's hand. 

“Have…have ye ever thought about…th’ future? Us, Callum?”, Rayla whispered.

“Other than I want to be with you, no matter what, no”, he answered honestly.

The aurora sheeted and hissed, crackling faintly far overhead as they kissed.


	7. Abdication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head's up! Spicy Raylum adult content in sight!
> 
> Not explicit, but definitely not PG.

The lake doors had been closed and barred for the night, candles and lanterns doused, the ventilation dormers opened just slightly , and the hearthfire banked to await the morning. 

Iona had departed for a rare drink at the Bee and Barb, Sheila retreating to her chamber, and Claudia had retired to the guest room with yet another tome of Skyrim lore and a lantern.

A single goathorn lantern on the right-hand nightstand flickered cheerfully in the deepening night.

“Te bed then, aye?”, Rayla inquired, a faint sly smile in her eyes.

Callum nodded. 

“Ah…ah'd lahk te apologise fer earlier”, Rayla offered, rubbing the buckle on her belts. “And fer last night.”

Callum laid his hands on her shoulders, kissing her gently. Rayla gasped slightly, a tiny moan escaping her.

“No need to apologise…”, Callum said softly.

“But ah…”, Rayla mumbled, then quieted as Callum kissed her again. She felt his fingers gently push her hands away from her belt buckles.

“If the lady will permit me…”

Rayla giggled, feeling heat rise in her cheeks, as Callum fumbled, only for a moment, with her fastenings, and then the swords in their harness were looped, swinging free, tossed to land with a supple thud on the low chest of drawers.

A gentle push, and Rayla sat on the wide bed, Callum kneeling to pull off her boots one at a time, standing them up beside the foot of the bed. Rayla's breath hitched as Callum neatly and quickly opened the fastenings of her green and midnight-sapphire bodysuit, peeling the layers aside, exposing her pale skin to the cool night air, baring her left shoulder.

She had never felt so vulnerable. So alive.

Callum kissed her soft lips, tasting her breath. Rayla whimpered softly, gasping as he kissed back along her delicate jawline to her ear, kissing the pointed pinnae, causing it to flick, and Rayla to giggle.

“Tickles…”

Kisses, gentle pecks, trailed down her neck, following her thundering pulse, to the hollow of her throat, his fingers tangled in her silky white hair, tugging her head back, displaying her weakness, kissing a slow, tantalizing trail of desire along her collarbone, the rounded grace of her shoulder…

Only slightly insistent tugs, and Rayla’s arms were freed from the sleeves, cloth pulled down, leaving her bare to her hips as she sat on the green quilt, violet eyes shining with wanton need. Rayla's hands tangled in Callum’s hair as they kissed properly again, breath slightly ragged, his hands caressing her smooth back. 

“More! Ah want more!”, Rayla demanded in a husky, breathy voice, reveling in the trails of excitement Callum's fingers traced on her skin, shivering in building anticipation. She leaned back, laying on her back, lifting her hips slightly in invitation, and Callum pulled on her bodysuit, peeling it down her slender, shapely legs, hooking her stockings, pulling them off her feet in the same motion.

“Ooooo, ye musta been practicin’ “, Rayla gently teased.

Callum smiled, a lean hunger, a need, in his eyes that thrilled Rayla. “Only a million times in my dreams since I met you", he admitted.

She gripped the lapels of his jacket, pulling him close, her kiss stealing the breath from his lungs. 

“If ye are nae naked, in this bed, an' tryin' te mount me in the next five seconds, ah swear by Xadia I’ll geld ye!”, Rayla growled, violet eyes shining with desire.

In the time it took for Rayla to throw back the bedclothes and lie down, Callum’s jacket sailed across the room, and he was hopping on one foot, trying to pull his tunic off over his head while kicking the other boot free. Graceful and romantic it was not.

Stripping out of his trousers, Callum practically pounced on the pale, curvaceous form offered so invitingly in the bed.

He paused, balanced above her, hips between her welcoming thighs, arms braced, holding himself above her, staring into her violet eyes. Skin against skin, gently prodding the entrance to her welcoming depths. A single thrust, and they would be one, bound body and spirit.

A heartbeat of hesitation, Rayla’s last possible chance to say no.

“Claim me, mount me, me love!”, Rayla cried, frantic with lust.

Callum took a deep breath, tensed—

The door to Honeyside slammed open thunderously.

“To arms! Alarum!”, Iona bellowed, storming into the main room. “The city is in riot, and—BY ALL THE GODS, YOU'RE DOING THAT NOW?!!”

Rayla swore, creatively, expressively, and at considerable volume, in what Callum was certain was Old Draconic.

*-*-*

Honeyside was in an uproar.

Iona had thundered down the stairs, and clattered back up, arms full of her harness, which she tossed on the floor, hurriedly sorted, and started strapping and buckling into place, donning her old armor with a haste that bespoke long practice. 

Hopping on one foot as she pulled her other over-the-knee boot on, Sheila had followed Iona up the stairs. Dressed, with a cuir-bouilli breastplate buckled in place, the former thief strapped matching daggers to each thigh, then swung her midnight-blue cloak over her shoulders.

Claudia rushed up from below, cheeks flushed, hair disarrayed, dressed in the clothes she had arrived in Tamriel in, her new clothing stuffed in a bulging cloth satchel, leather-bound book in hand.

Rayla and Callum had re-dressed, stressed, frustrated, and embarrassed, refusing to look at each other or meet Claudia’s eye.

“The city is in chaos!”, Iona explained. “Some of the thieves, and allies working inside Mistveil Keep, tried to kill Jarl Laila, after she named you two as heroes! Add in an attempted coup by that idiot Maven Blackbriar in the confusion, whom it turns out has been paying the Thieves Guild for years! Gods, what a mess!”

Callum swallowed hard. “How can we help?”

Iona threw a leather backpack at him. “Honestly? Get out of town! Head west, staying on the roads south of Lake Honrich, following the Treva to Ivarstead. Hail a carriage at the stables, ask the driver if the horse is ‘Arvak'! Got that? ‘Arvak’! I’ve got to meet Mjoll, hold the bridge here, keep the damn thieves from looting and burning Honeyside!”

Sheila opened the door a crack, peeking outside.

“What in Oblivion do you think you're doing?!”, Iona demanded.

“Honeyside is my home, you, and Mjoll are my…sisters, now. I’m going with you, and I’m going to raise hell”, Sheila glared. 

“Won’t that pink tunic stand out in the night?”, Claudia blinked. 

Sheila flipped up the hood of her cloak. And vanished. “They’ll never see me coming."

The door opened and closed of its own accord.

Claudia glared at Iona. “You keep her safe!”

Iona nodded, grim. “There hasn’t been this much action since the bloody Dragonborn was running about town, wiping out the skooma trade and fighting Thalmor in the Ratway!” She looked at the plain dagger on the weapons plaque above the mantle, plucked it loose, sheathed it, and handed it to Rayla.

“You’ll find my Thane in Whiterun. Tell Lord Gowan to return that himself, and avenge me if I’ve fallen!”, Iona instructed Rayla. “Don’t let anyone but Lord Gowan see that blade!”

Callum had filled the backpack with food, bread, cheese, and a few bottles of ale, and the dagger Jarl Laila had given him hung from his belt. Rayla's similar dagger was strapped to her right thigh.

“Out the lake doors! I’ll bar them behind you. No light until you reach the stables! Go!”, Iona told them. “Talos watch over your battles!” 

Callum shouldered the pack, and he, Rayla, and Claudia slipped out the door to the lake, hearing the bar thud into it's sockets, and descended the wooden stairs to the dock below, Rayla leading the way in her arms back run, Callum valiantly thudding behind her, and Claudia trotting swiftly beside him. Up the slope from the lake, the sparse grasses rustling as they passed, keeping close to the city wall.

The shadow stepped out to bar their path. “Thought you’d try to come this way!”, she laughed, before Rayla flick-flipped open her swords, blades weaving a dancing, looping figure of parries and slashes that drove the bravo back, yelping, shrieking in sudden pain as fingers and their nose were snipped away. Then they were past, running in the night. Sounds of conflict rose from behind the city walls, clashes of weapons, and the muted orange roar of buildings on fire.

Somewhere in that convulsion of rebellion, three of their friends were fighting for their lives and homes.

*-*-*

Mjoll the Lioness stood proud in the center of the bridge, her double-bitted battle axe cutting a lazy, practiced loop left and right to maintain momentum, ready to strike or parry, evidence of her deadly trade littering the decking before her, blood and gore splashed on her face and steel plate armor. None of it was hers.

To her right flank, and slightly to her rear, Iona crouched, dagger hand leading, buckler at the ready to punch or block, prepared to leap in and exploit any opening created by Mjoll's sweeping battle-axe. Blood oozed from a cut high on her right cheekbone, received early in the melee. She'd have an impressive scar. If she survived the night.

At the foot of the bridge, on the down-at-heel Plankside entrance to the bridge stood a motley collection of three rebellious town guard in their armor, two known members of the disgraced Thieves Guild in their black-and-grey cuir-bouilli armor, and two opportunistic inhabitants of the Ratway warrens. They were weighing their chances of a third attempt to rush the bridge defenders.

One of the Ratway denizens moved to step forward, then bellowed outrage as they were hamstrung, gurgling as they were stabbed in the back, only a half seen flicker of ghostly movement evidence of their unseen assailant. 

Mjoll’s battle-axe whipped out in a long, quick curve, smashing through a former guardsman's vambrace, lopping off their sword arm at the elbow, leaving the poor victim to lurch and howl in shock and agony.

“You’re ancestors are laughing at you!”, Iona mocked with a barking guffaw.

In the darkness behind the rebels, soft phantasmal sing-song: “One-two, Sheila’s comin' for you… Three-four, better lock your door…”

*-*-*

The Riften stables were in sight, horses nickering, stamping, shaking their big heads at the intruding clashes of steel and wisps of smoke drifting over the city walls. The stablemaster was ordering the hands about, preparing to move the horses away from the city, away from conflict and thievery if violence spread beyond the city walls. 

Two carriages were in front of the stables, one standing ready, the other being hurriedly prepared, harness still being buckled into place before putting the horse between the cart-shafts, the carriage driver whipping out a dagger at Callum’s unannounced approach from the darkness.

“Whoa!”, Callum barked. “We’re friendly! We just need to get away from the city! Is your horse ‘Arvak’?”

“What nonsense are you mumbling? Fifty gold to get to Windhelm or Whiterun! And we leave as soon as I’m ready!”

“Boy!”, boomed the second carriage driver. “Did I hear you say ‘Arvak'?”

“Yessir! We need to get to Whiterun, as fast as possible!”

A flick of the reins, and the big carriageman brought his rig around. “If you come with me, I guarantee you’ll reach Whiterun alive.”

“How much?”, Claudia called.

“A hundred gold. Each.”

“What?! That’s literally highway robbery!”, Claudia screeched, indignant.

“There they are!”, yelled Anuriel from the gatehouse. Rebel Riften guardsmen surged from the portal.

The big carriage driver turned in his seat, an ornate double-prodded crossbow rising in his grip, a flat *!TUNG!* as a steel-tipped dart flicked through the night air, a faint buzz from its fletching, the guardsman nailed to the massive door with a coughing scream.

“Cheap at twice the price!”, Claudia yelped, clambering gracelessly over the side of the carriage, Rayla leaping aboard, and Callum launching himself into the carriage bed over the tailgate.

“Go, go, go!”, Callum yelled.

“Hah! Hah!”, the driver called, the carriage clattering into the darkness, the three passengers tangled in a pile on the carriage bed, Rayla flinching as an iron-tipped arrow buried itself in the wood next to her face.

“Faster! Must go much, much faster!”, Claudia howled. 

The carriage clattered and jounced, rocking it’s passengers, now fugitives, as they fled the burning city.


	8. Apprentice

The sun was at or just past it's zenith when the carriage made the right turn that led to the stone bridge to Ivarstead, steel-rimmed spoke wheels crunch-bumping over the cobbles in the road.

The trio of Katolian and Xadian refugees were by turns weary and hungry, having spent several hours attempting to sleep in the carriage, Claudia on one of the long bench seats, Callum and Rayla crammed into the footwell of the carriage floor, all of them covered or rolled in blankets and travelling rugs that had been stowed under the benches or strapped in rolls on the side of the conveyance.

Their carriage driver, a tallish, burley man with a short, neat dark beard shot through with silver and an impressive spiral tattoo in sapphire blue on his right cheek, never removed the hood of heavy linen canvas that shadowed his features, had slept, or napped on the driver's bench, and irritatingly seemed none the worse for wear.

While Claudia just looked tired, Callum was absorbed in constant observation of their surroundings, making frequent rough sketches in his notebook.

Rayla, rocking with the swaying side-to-side motion imparted by the carriage, was feeling increasingly queasy, quietly swallowing several times in succession against the rising sharp metallic coppery sensation in the back of her throat, belching quietly in discomfort.

It was still some length of time until they would reach Ivarstead, so Callum rummaged through the leather backpack given to them by the steward of Honeyside in Riften, pulling out most of a wheel of the blue-veined, pungent cheese they all had developed a taste for, wrapped in a muslin rag.

The rich, ripe scent of the cheese overpowered Rayla's sense of smell, seemingly searing her nostrils and clogging her throat and lungs.

With a choking, heaving gasp, Rayla lunged, bracing herself over the tailgate of the carriage and was noisily ill.

“This is almost as bad as thet damned boat…”, Rayla moaned in misery as the carriage slowed to a stop.

Callum rubbed her back, handing her a bottle of ale to rinse her mouth with. “We’re almost there.”

Claudia at least made the attempt to hide her smirk, and chose not to make any sarcastic comments.

Turning to look at his passengers, the driver nodded. “You can ride up here with me, if you're of a mind. It’s a bit bouncy, but should be kinder to your gut. The bridge to Ivarstead is just ahead, so if you and your friends would prefer to walk the rest of the way, you can do that too.”

Rayla shook her head beneath her hood. “Ah'm alight th' now. Drive on.”

The carriage driver nodded, flicking his reigns with a soft command, and the carriage lurched back into motion.

*-*-*

Ivarstead was a bustling village with several farms and lumber mill, busy enough to support a roadside inn, nestled on the flank of the largest mountain any of them had ever seen, greater even than the Storm Spire. Most of the buildings in the small settlement were of well-laid drystone construction, with timbers supporting thatch roofs.

Rayla clambered out of the carriage, glad to be back on stable, solid ground. She glanced up at the imposing tor, feeling, sensing something almost…familiar, somewhere high above on the cloud-veiled peak.

“We’re stopping for now”, their driver announced. “I have to tend to the horse, make a couple of repairs. You might as well get a room for the night.”

Claudia rolled her eyes with a sigh as she climbed down from the carriage. “I preferred Riften. Even if I didn’t go out a lot, they had plenty of books.”

“Well, maybe they’ll have some new books in the inn”, Callum pointed out as he jumped from the carriage bed. “In any case, we could all use some food and rest”, he said, mounting the steps to the Vilemyr Inn, noting the purple tabards of the handful of town guards wandering the main avenue on patrol.

“I’m Wilhelm, welcome to the Vilemyr Inn", the balding innkeeper jovially introduced himself as they entered. “We’re got food for the hungry, beds for the weary. Let me know if I can get you something.”

Trestle tables lined the walls, with benches in front of them. Three comfortable looking chairs to their immediate right, a long communal fire pit used for heating and cooking, three more chairs at the other end of the fire pit in front of the bar. A door to the right of the bar led to one large room, and two doors to the left opened on smaller rooms. A remarkably attractive blonde young woman in a russet corseted dress swept the floor, singing quietly to herself in time with the strokes of her broom.

While Callum negotiated for a meal, Rayla sank gratefully into one of the chairs, thankful to have stopped moving.

Claudia chose the chair next to her, sitting with a quiet groan. “That was possibly the longest carriage ride in my life…”, Claudia observed, feet pointed at the fire pit. “My behind is numb.”

Callum joined the two young women, one hand supporting three tankards that slopped just slightly, and the other a pottery bowl of pottage he passed to Rayla. Close behind him was the young woman they’d seen sweeping, bearing a wooden bowl in either hand, one of which she passed to Claudia, the other to Callum once he'd distributed the drinks.

Rayla ate, almost by reflex, slumping in her chair, eyes drowsy.

Callum caught her bowl before she dropped it, and returned it to the innkeeper, paying for two rooms at the same time.

“C'mon, sleepy head, nap time for you", Callum told Rayla, half lifting her and escorting her to one of the rooms. “Claudia, try to stay out of trouble, please?”

Claudia frowned at him in reply.

Callum closed the door behind them with his heel, hearing the latch drop into place. Rayla was stumbling by the time he got her to sit on the thin leather-covered straw mattress, tugging back her hood, slipping off her boots, and gently rolling her into bed, then laying beside her, gazing at the pale beauty.

She shifted slightly, rolling just so, arm draping over his torso. He couldn’t resist, affectionately kissing her forehead.

A faint chuckle from Rayla. “Nae now, love. Too tired. Ye kin ravage me later.”

Callum smiled, settling beside her, closing his eyes. Maybe just a short nap…

*-*-*

Rayla blinked. She must be dreaming. She was in bed, lying beside Callum.

No. That wasn’t right. She was almost lying _on_ Callum, one arm and leg draped over his gently snoring form, her hips pressed thrillingly close to him, and the whisper of a dream that suggested she wanted to be much, much closer than that.

Heat flushed her cheeks. This was getting, well, not bad, but definitely distracting.

Rayla shifted, rolling away from Callum and managed to slip out of the bed without waking him. Stocking-footed, she padded around the bed, finding her boots exactly where he'd placed them, and slipped them on, then flipped up her hood.

Some fresh air after her nap was just the thing to clear away the last of the cobwebs in her brain.

She quietly unlatched the door and slipped out in the common room, glancing around. Rayla recognized the innkeeper, who nodded genially at her, and the young woman who’d helped Callum bring over their meagre meal earlier. She didn’t recognize the pretty brunette who was sewing that sat beside a early middle-aged man in a rust-colored leather jerkin who was engaged in snelling fish-hooks on a line, chatting amicably with each other.

Rayla wandered over to the bar.

“Help you?”, queried Wilhelm.

“Th' dark lass we came in wi'. De ye ken where she went?”, Rayla inquired in turn.

Wilhelm paused, thinking a moment. “Must have been an hour ago, after she got bored with her book, she put her bag in her room, and we talked for a bit, mostly me telling her about local history, like the time the Dragonborn discovered that the ghost of Shroud Hearth Barrow on the edge of town was actually an adventurer who’d gone insane—”

Rayla darted away. She had a very bad feeling about this situation. Banging the door to the hired room open, she startled Callum awake.

“What?!”, he sat up.

“Claudia! She’s gone an’ done summat bloody stupid!”

Callum groaned in almost physical discomfort at the news. “Where—What is she doing?!”

“Th’ bloody great ninny hae gone crawlin’ about in a tomb on the edge o' town!”, Rayla explained.

After asking for direction to the barrow, several minutes and one thoroughly annoyed walk later, Callum and Rayla stood before the age-darkened cast metal doors decorated with ornate cross-hatching that led deep into the sepulcher.

“This is right at the top of the ‘really bad idea' list", Callum muttered.

“Honestly, ah swear ah don' ken how thet girl gets through a day wi'out causing herself an injury!”, Rayla fumed. “ ‘Oooo, ah'm the daughter of a powerful mage, an' ah don' hae te bother thinkin' about consequences!’ ”

Rayla flicked back her hood, and flipped open her swords, nodding at Callum to open the doors.

Callum glanced at her drawn weapons. “Do you really think that’s necessary?”

“Hae many stories thet start like this end wi' summat crawlin’ about tryin' te eat the heroes?”, Rayla countered.

“We’re gonna di-eee", Callum sing-songed grimly as he swung the portal open.

Ancient plank stairs spiraled left down a stone-lined shaft, deep into the ground. Somewhere far below, water could be heard in a slow drip-drop.

Callum peered down the shaft.

“Now would be a grand time te use thet light spell ye taught yerself”, Rayla suggested.

“Shhhh", Callum hissed. “I thought I heard something.”

Rayla concentrated, closing her eyes, her pinnae twitching.

“…help…” Very faint.

“Damn and blast!”, Rayla muttered darkly.

With Callum providing illumination, Rayla proceeded him down the steps, mindful of loose or rotted boards that would send either or both of them plummeting to their doom.

The winding stair led out into a sloping ovoid tunnel carved and clawed out of the surrounding stone that in turn opened into an small antechamber with three other tunnels, lined with niches, some horizontal, some vertical.

Candles, which should have guttered out ages ago, still flickered eerily, lending an unearthly glow to the macabre atmosphere.

“…someone…please…”

A glance left revealed a small chamber with four levers, set in twos on opposing walls.

The right path showed an ornate wooden chest with a vaulted lid at the end of a short hallway. Claudia slumped, no, hung, against the left hand wall, back and left side to the stone, face pale, left arm transfixed by a barbed spearhead as long as Rayla‘s foot protruding from the wall. Blood had started to pool under her.

Callum darted ahead, seeing his old friend in trouble, Claudia looking up, alarmed at his approach.

“Stop! Please!”, Claudia begged. “Trap…stepped on the trigger…oh, ow!”

Callum cast his light spell again, searching carefully, and pointing out the trigger to Rayla when he found it, both of them stepping cautiously around it before inspecting Claudia's injury.

The spearhead of age-corroded blackened metal was relatively sharp, and appeared to have missed any truly vital blood vessels as it had penetrated Claudia's arm. Claudia explained she’d thrown herself back at the last possible instant, and only her upper arm had been affected.

Callum peered at the infernal device. “Hmm….”

“What?”, Claudia panted in pain.

“I think the spearhead, umm, comes off, or can come off", he explained. “I need you to stand up a bit though.” Callum showed Rayla where the spearhead should detach, and helped support Claudia while Rayla folded and stowed her swords, then tugged the metal spear shaft outward, Callum jamming it to the side by pushing against it, and then Rayla twisting the spearhead loose, dropping it to the stone floor with a clang.

Callum released the shaft, which retracted into the wall, retreating through Claudia’s torn flesh, making her scream and faint.

It took both of them, moving very carefully so as not to trigger the trap again to move Claudia back to the antechamber.

Callum ripped open Claudia's sleeve, examining the oozing wound, then bandaging it clumsily with clean rags from his satchel.

“We'd better wake her up”, Callum suggested, glancing at the snow-haired elf. “I don’t think we can carry her up those stai—Something wrong, Rayla?”

“Ye dinnae hear thet?”, Rayla murmured.

Callum strained to hear anything but themselves. “No…?”

“Tis comin' from deeper in…”

Callum's eyebrows rose in concern. “What is?”

“The call…”

“Rayla, you’re starting to seriously creep your boyfriend out", Callum pointedly observed. “Clauds is unconscious, and you want to go chasing whispers in a catacomb! There is no way this ends well!”

Her white hair shining amber in the pale candlelight, Rayla turned to Callum, violet eyes bright and intent. “This is important, Callum. Ah jest know it!”

Frowning, but agreeing by staying silent, Callum shook Claudia gently until she returned to groggy awareness.

“I don’t feel so good…”, Claudia whined.

“You lost a lot of blood", Callum nodded. “And now we have to move deeper in to find a way out. C'mon, get up.”

Claudia stood with some assistance, leaning woozily on Callum, following Rayla as she explored the ruined crypt.

At the bottom of another circular stairwell, Claudia lurched, throwing Callum off balance, and he stumbled onto a metal grate set into the floor, which gave way suddenly, dropping him into a stone-lined well full of water. It wasn’t terribly deep, maybe twice as deep as Callum was tall. While Claudia narrowly missed following Callum into the water, he thrashed, more surprised than anything at the sudden thorough dunking.

“Who in the name o’ Xadia puts a water trap in a tomb?”, Rayla demanded at volume, carefully reaching to pull Callum up.

“Hold on, Rayla! I think I saw something!”, Callum yelped before ducking back under the surface.

“Callum!!”, Rayla screamed, alarmed. She turned on Claudia. “This is yer fault!!”

Claudia collapsed on the bottom steps, trying to trace a rune in the air, Rayla slapping her hand aside before she could finish it and invoke the spell.

A clang of metal on stone, and the sodden clink of a coin purse. Callum grinning as he used the grate to pull himself out of the water, standing, lifting the golden-bladed sword he'd recovered from the bottom of the well. “Looks like the trip won’t be a total waste of time", he chuckled, brown hair plastered to his scalp.

Rayla scowled at him.

The trio, Callum supporting Claudia, cautiously explored the remainder of the subterranean labyrinth, passing numerous moldering corpses marked by awful violence, and the horrible knowledge that the dead here had walked with terrible purpose, until they came to the massive main chamber, an ancient decorative wall inscribed with what looked like deliberate claw marks in the stone composing lines of utterly alien script.

Rayla wandered closer to the inscription, the chant only she could hear echoing in her mind, until just a step away, she was wreathed in pale, ethereal cold flame that did no harm, and a single word burned its meaning deep into her awareness. _‘'KYNE",_ it boomed silently.

Silence.

“Rayla? You okay?”, Callum asked. He’d seen her stiffen, eyes going wide, the gasp of her breath, and something whispered past him, an echo of ancient and powerful magic.

Rayla nodded.

“Tis gone the now. We can go.”


	9. Audition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Graphic description of treatment of gory injury.
> 
> 'The Leaves of Grass' lyrics are copyright Gordon Lightfoot.

Callum carried the golden-bladed sword he’d recovered from the depths of Shroud Hearth Barrow in one hand, and supported a staggering Claudia with the other for the short walk back to the Vilemyr Inn, Rayla following close behind, glaring daggers at her piebald rival in the deepening shadow of the late afternoon sun.

Their carriage driver looked up from picking his horse's hooves clean of small stones, appraising the situation as the trio approached, setting aside his tools to remove a small leather pack hung on the side of the carriage, and meeting them as Claudia stumbled down the steep slope that descended to road.

“What happened?”

“Witchy-britches found a spear trap. Th' hard way", Rayla scoffed.

Tossing the pack and a bucket from the carriage to Rayla, the driver swept Claudia up in his arms. “Boy, get some blankets or quilts from the inn, and a bottle of Cyrodillic brandy, quickly, and meet us at the river”, he instructed Callum. “You, elf, come with me.” The big man's tone left no room for argument.

Setting Claudia down on the riverbank, closer than Rayla felt comfortable, the carriage driver instructed Rayla to draw a full bucket from the rushing water, and slipped a sharply pointed belt knife out of it’s sheath, neatly slitting Claudia’s left sleeve from cuff to the ragged hole torn by the spear trap, then higher, to her collar, flipping aside the cloth the reveal the blood-soaked clumsily tied bandage, cutting that away as well, inspecting the through-and-through wound.

“Nasty”, the driver opined. “But I’ve seen worse.”

Rayla struggled the full bucket over, setting it on the ground. “Define ‘worse' “, she quipped.

“Accident with a headsman’s axe", the carriage driver grinned sardonically. “Do you mind heating the water?”

“Oh, sure!", Rayla snapped. “Ah'll jest nip over te th' inn, grab a kettle an’ build a nice cozy—”

A jet of flame leaped from the left hand of the carriage driver into the bucket, quickly bringing it's contents to a roiling boil. “Unless you actually want your friend to die, less back chat!”

Rayla blinked. What had just happened?

Puffing slightly, arms full of threadbare quilts, one hand gripping a large dark blue bottle, Callum jogged over to Rayla. 

“Lay one of the quilts out", the driver pointed with his bearded chin, taking the bottle from Callum. “You, girl, rags from the pack. Quickly!”

With movements that spoke of unfortunate practice, the big carriage driver laid Claudia out on the quilt, efficiently stripping her out of her blood-soaked clothing, telling Callum to pull off her boots and stockings. Claudia's weak protestations were ignored.

“Jest what are ye thinkin' o' doin'?”, Rayla demanded hotly, embarrassed by Claudia's nudity.

A callused, scarred hand abruptly yanked on Rayla's harness, bringing her face to face with the now visibly annoyed carriage driver. “Your friend is going to bleed to death, unless we act very quickly. And when I do what I need to do, she is going to make a hell of a mess, and I’m going to need your help to get this done! I don’t have time to be polite!”

He let Rayla go.

“Get a firm grip on her good arm”, the driver glared at Rayla. He held the bottle up to Claudia's lips. “Drink, girl! At least three big gulps.”

Claudia was baffled for a moment, but complied, choking, gasping as the fiery liquid seared a path down her throat. “Oof!”, she wheezed.

The driver soaked the clean rags in a liberal amount of brandy, neatly cleaning away the clotted blood, drawing a pained gasp from Claudia as the brandy made contact with the open wound.

“Damned nasty", the driver muttered, fishing a slim brass-colored tube and supple leather bladder from the pack, rinsing both for several moments in the heated water, before filling the bladder with brandy and attaching the nozzle. 

“Pin her legs down, proper mind you!”, the driver ordered Callum. “Do try not to let her break her knees, or that’ll be another mess to attend!” Callum did so, and Rayla held Claudia's free arm tightly. With Claudia restrained, the driver took a moment to get Claudia to bite down on a softwood dowel padded with leather, then inserted the metal nozzle deep into the torn flesh, Claudia gasping, whining in protest.

“No two ways about this, girl", the driver warned Claudia. “This is going to hurt. I’m sorry.”

He squeezed the bladder, sending a gush of raw brandy through the injury.

Claudia shrieked, teeth biting hard into the leather, eyes clamped shut at the burning agony. Callum swallowed hard, gagging at the odor as Claudia soiled herself. Rayla held even tighter to Claudia's arm, whispering unexpected support and encouragement. “Yer doin' so good, Clauds, so good. Sech a brave lass! Shhh, he's almost done…”

Another squeeze, another gush of brandy, Claudia screaming herself hoarse, tears streaming down her cheeks, glorious long hair disheveled as her head whipped back and forth in agony, whimpering.

Claudia spat out the leather wrapped stick. “No more! Please! Please!”, she begged.

The carriage driver inspected his handiwork, nodded, retrieving two crimson vials from the pack, opened them, tipping the contents to Claudia's lips. “Drink.”

Callum and Rayla watched, astounded as Claudia's torn and ragged flesh knit itself back together under a soft, swirling golden nimbus.

“Yer a mage!”, Rayla whispered. 

Callum stared, open mouthed. “That's…that’s incredible!”

The carriage driver shrugged. “I know a handful of useful spells. So do a lot of people. And healing potions are common alchemy you can buy in most cities and settlements.”

“Callum, please get off me", Claudia complained weakly, exhausted. 

Callum clambered free with a yelp, suddenly realizing he was partly pinning a naked Claudia to a soiled quilt.

“Take your lady and get her a drink, lad", the driver said. “She looks a bit pale. I’ll help your friend here clean up.”

“Ah think somethin' te drink is a grand idea, don’t ye?", Rayla nodded at Callum, exhaling shakily.

*-*-*

Callum and Rayla sat beside each other in two chairs at the far end of the common room fire pit. Rayla didn’t even speak to Callum until she'd consumed two flagons of mead. The serving wench had turned out to be a competent lute player, and they idly listened as the tunes flowed.

“So? Did ye like wha' ye saw?”, Rayla challenged her dark-haired suitor.

Callum sipped from his own drink, choosing his words carefully.

“About what I expected", he said honestly. “And I would have sold my sketchbook to even get a glimpse of her like that, once upon a time.”

“And th’ now?”

Callum shrugged. “Why wish for something that’s less amazing than what I already have?”

“An’ thet is…?” A dangerous edge in Rayla's playful rejoinder.

He leaned close to whisper in her ear through her hood. “The most incredible, talented, brave, and tenacious person I know.”

Rayla regarded Callum levelly. “Ye do remember all o' th' times ah made a complete shambles out o' things, right?” 

The young mage smiled before he took another healthy sip. “As it happens, I do. And it doesn’t matter. I love you for you, Rayla.”

That brought a smile to Rayla's lips.

The carriage driver pushed the door open with his foot, carrying a sleeping Claudia wrapped in a quilt to her room, drawing the door to her room shut after depositing the young woman in the rudimentary bed, and departing with a nod at Callum and Rayla.

“Your pardon”, the serving wench cum musician intruded politely. “My name is Lynly Star-sung. Would you care to hear a song? Just five septims.”

Rayla grinned. “Why not?”

Coins changed hands, and the chanteuse strummed her lute. “A bard from the College of Solitude wrote this, after the Battle of Whiterun last year.”

Rayla groaned, rolling her eyes. If she’d known this would be an ode to war she would have declined.

“The leaves of grass, will not pass on", Lynly sang in a pure, clear alto, voice filling the common room.  
“Though the millstone grinds them into dust,  
For the earth shall give new life to them  
But only the grass will grow once more.”

Lynly’s fingers finger-picked and strummed the lute, bringing the song to shimmering life.

“And the brave keep falling to honor the names,  
Of the ones who have gone before,  
And the earth shall give new life to them,  
But only the grass will grow once more. “

Callum noted that Lynly's thumb would neatly pluck the bass strings, creating a three-four beat.

“If people could look into each other's eyes,  
What a wonderful place this world would be.  
All strife would end, we could start again,  
And dreams like these would not pass on.”

Lynly plucked out a sweet, plaintive interlude that caused tears to well in the corners of Rayla's eyes, her lower lip quivering.

“But the brave keep falling to honor the names,   
Of the ones who have gone before,   
And the earth shall give new life to them,   
But only the grass will grow once more…”

Rayla clutched Callum's hand, fingers interlaced, heart almost breaking at the honest plea for peace in the song, a quick glance when she saw him wipe away a tear from his own cheek.

Lynly finished out the tune on an intimate polyphonic flourish that faded into silence.

“Thet was absolutely beautiful", Rayla whispered, using the back of her free hand to wipe away an errant tear that trailed down her cheek. “Ah…ah think ah need a moment out in th' fresh air…”

Callum let her go with a nod.

Outside, in the cool evening, Rayla took several deep, steadying breaths, then leaned on the porch railing, arms crossed, staring up at the unfamiliar stars, the larger moon rising over the stone mound of Shroud Hearth Barrow. A violet-clad guard walked past on the cobbled road below on patrol, unconcerned with Rayla’s presence.

Behind and far above Rayla, a presence loomed, casting a shadow on all their futures.


	10. Awakening

Claudia shifted, rolling on her back with a groan, opening her eyes to stare at the angled timbers and cross-staves supporting the thatched roof above her, shadowed in the light shed by a candle lantern on the bedside table. Her mouth felt unpleasantly dry and furry, and she ached all over.

Sitting up caused the thin quilt covering her to drop to her waist, and she realized through the fog of a pounding headache she was completely naked. Most of the previous day was something of a blur, fragments of memories of incredible pain in her left arm.

A glance, a touch confirmed those memories. Scars. Healed, but definitely new.

Claudia swept a lock of the patch of her white hair out of her eyes. Soren would yell at her for being so impulsive and reckless. Again.

Soren.

Where was he? Would he be looking for her? Did he even care?

Did it matter?

Claudia turned in the bed, swiveling her legs over the side and gazed unfocused at the floor, hands braced on the frame of the bed. So much had gone wrong. She scoffed in self-recrimination. Nothing like helping perpetuate a war, engage in some light treason, and aid a megalomaniacal father overcome death to really make you question both your morals and sanity.

Maybe she was better off lost. Maybe Soren was too.

“Gah!” Her hands on either side of her face. Too much introspection, not enough Hot Brown Morning Potion. 

Claudia dug through the satchel she'd brought from Riften, pulling out the chemise that went under the purple gown Sheila bought her, slipping it on over her head, then opening the door to the common room. 

The air in the common room was slightly chill, even with the bed of coals glowing in the fire pit, damp with moisture blowing in from the wind-eye high above the bar in the apex of the thatched roof, a faint haze providing a smoky tang to the shadowed gloom relieved by lanterns and candles placed on the tables, the flagstone floor cold as the grave under her bare feet.

Wilhelm the innkeeper was chatting idly with their carriage driver as the latter used a horn spoon to scrape the last vestiges out of a wooden bowl of pottage while sitting on a tall stool at the bar. Wilhelm smiled broadly, and the carriage driver nodded politely as she took a seat beside him.

“I guess I should say thank you for saving my life yesterday", Claudia said quietly, voice still raspy from screaming as she claimed a stool to perch on. “So, umm, thank you?”

The carriage driver shrugged.

Claudia sighed, the sigh rasping into a groan. “How did this happen?!”, she demanded of no-one, hands at her temples, elbows on the bar.

“How did what happen?”, Wilhelm inquired.

“We’re not even supposed to be here!”, Claudia complained. “I screwed up the spell, and now we’re stuck here! I’m not even sure where ‘here’ is!”

A chuckle from the carriage driver. “At least you didn’t destroy a city…”

“Winterhold", Wilhelm nodded sagely.

“What’s a ‘Winterhold’? Or is it a where?”, Claudia wondered, curiosity piqued.

“Winterhold is home to the mages college", Wilhelm explained. “Some years ago they were conducting an experiment, and most of the part of the city that didn’t disappear fell into the sea.”

Claudia stared at Wilhelm. “What?!”

“Oh, it happened long before I was born, in the one hundred and twenty-second year of the Fourth Era", Wilhelm explained. 

“What year is it now?”, Claudia arched an eyebrow.

“Two-oh-three, Fourth Era."

Claudia glanced away, a moue of confusion on her face. She didn’t have a way to reference the calendar here to the one used in Katolis. She was going to have to do a lot of research to even begin to guess at the correspondences that would co-relate between Nirn and the world she, Callum, and Rayla had come from. She dropped her forehead on the bar, crossing her arms over the back of her head. She definitely needed Hot Brown Morning Potion. She was about to go and knock on the door to Callum and Rayla's room when the door opened and Callum came out, frowning and distracted.

“Umm, Callum?”, Claudia raised her head, and one hand slightly to get his attention. “Could I, umm, get some money to buy breakfast?” 

Callum pulled the jingling coin purse out of his satchel, tossing it to Claudia as he crossed the common room and opened the door. “Enjoy.”

Something was wrong. Should she follow him? Or leave him alone?

In the moment of her indecision, Callum departed into the damp grey morning.

Claudia sighed, annoyed and frustrated. “Give me a bowl of whatever he had", she said, pointing a thumb at the carriage driver, “and some apple cider if you have it.”

*-*-*

Watching the latter stages of sunrise during a steady grey drizzle while sitting cross-legged on the apex of an ancient burial mound was the perfect metaphor to encapsulate Callum's mood. He’d lain awake next to Rayla most of the night, replaying parts of their conversation from the previous day after helping Claudia, shaded jealousy in her voice, the suspicion in her eyes.

Hand supporting his chin, elbow propped on his knee, and preoccupied with his thoughts, Callum didn’t hear the soft footsteps approaching from behind him.

“Yer going to catch yer death of cold, sittin' out in the wet like this", Rayla pointed out.

“I’m thinking.”

Rayla squatted beside him, hood pulled up. “Wha' about?”

“You. Me… Us.”

The grey drizzle pattered a soft sibilant hiss on the stone of the barrow. Lake Geir shimmered silver wavelets.

“Should ah be worried?”, Rayla queried, hesitant.

Callum shrugged. “You tell me.”

“Ah can’t read yer bloody mind, Callum!”, Rayla barked. “Tell me wha' is goin' on! Ah woke up, ye were gone, an’ witchy-britches—”

“Claudia.”

“… Claudia is nae bloody help!”, Rayla fumed. “Talk te me, Callum! Please!”

“Why are you so jealous of her?” Callum's quiet question made Rayla recoil.

“Ah'm nae jealous o' witchy-britches!!”, Rayla snarled, standing, leaning over Callum, arms spread. “Why would ah be?!”

Callum scrambled to his feet. “Then why give a damn whether or not I looked at her yesterday when we helped her get treatment for the wound she got because of that stupid spear trap?!”

“She flirts with you!!“

“You flirt with me!”, Callum replied, exasperated. “Primals! I almost mounted you in Riften!”

Rayla's face flamed with the memory. “Thet's nae the point!!”, she stabbed a finger up beneath his nose, other hand on her hip.

“I think that's exactly the point!”, Callum accused angrily. “You’re afraid I'm going to run off and mount Claudia, just because I grew up with her! You think I’ll just abandon you!” As soon as the words left his mouth, Callum regretted what her said.

The hurt in Rayla's eyes.

“Ah…ah never said thet…” Rayla’s voice was quiet.

Callum sighed, lifting a hand to start apologizing, but Rayla had already turned and scampered down the slope of the barrow.

“Brilliant, Callum", he sarcastically congratulated himself. “You managed to screw that up completely. Well done!”

He slouched his way back to the inn.

*-*-*

Rayla had run back through the village, tears blurring her vision, over the stone bridge that led out of town. How dare Callum accused her! She turned right, off the cobbled road, running uphill.

Her twin swords flipped open in her hands, blades sighing and slicing the air, parting raindrops in mid-air as they fell, following the movements and motions of her assassins training, flowing into the mindless execution of the forms, a deadly dance, blocking out the world. 

Hiding from the hurt.

“M'aiq thinks it would be very dangerous to be your friend.”

Rayla whirled to the unexpected voice, staring at the sight that confronted her, blades in guard and ready counter position.

A pale, upright shadowpaw, but smaller than the riding beast of her lost home. In hooded saffron robes like those she’d seen in the Temple of Mara.

“What in Xadia are ye??”

“This one is sometimes addressed as M'aiq, called the Liar.”

“Aye, but what are ye?”

M'aiq’s chuckle shaded a purr of indulgent amusement. “This one is Khajiit, from Elseweyr. As was M'aiq's father, and the father before him.”

“De ye make a habit o' creepin' up on people with swords?”, Rayla inquired. “Or am ah jest special?”

“M'aiq also carries two weapons, in case one breaks.”

“Oooo-kay", Rayla drawled. “Ah think ah'll be goin' the now…”

M’aiq nodded. “This one agrees it is best not to cry in the rain. Why get even wetter?”

Rayla sighed, folding and stowing her swords. “Yer a queer one.”

An indulgent fanged smile. “M'aiq sees much, and knows more. Some of which he shares.”

“Yeah, well don' share anything about me. Ah'm nothing special”, Rayla turned to leave.

“If one were not special, why is said one crying in the rain?”

Rayla stopped. “What did ye say?”, she challenged over her shoulder.

“One with pointed ears may hear much”, M'aiq grinned. “One with a heart will actually listen.”

Turning to confront her feline inquisitor, Rayla found he’d already walked away.

*-*-*

Callum threw open the door to the Vilemyr Inn, stomped across the flagstone floor of the common room, and slammed the door to his and Rayla's room so hard Claudia jumped.

When Claudia tapped at the door, Callum's voice was muffled by the thick planks. “Go away!”

Claudia retreated to her room, and finished dressing, combing out her long hair. When she emerged, Rayla had returned, and was about to open the door to the room she shared with Callum.

“I…wouldn't", Claudia cautioned with a shake of her head. “Callum…he’s…he’s pretty mad right now. I’d let him cool off.”

Rayla glared at Claudia, hand on the latch handle, mouth open as if she were about to start an argument. Stopped. Nodded, then crossed the common room and went back out into the grey, wet morning.

Claudia found Rayla huddled on a bench on the covered porch of the inn, looking miserable, and sat primly beside her rival, maintaining a polite silence.

“We had a fight.”

Claudia nodded, silent.

“Over ye”, Rayla admitted, looking away. “Callum said ah’m jealous o’ ye. Well, maybe ah am!”

“Then we're even", Claudia confessed. “I’m jealous of you. What you have with Callum.” It was her turn to look away. “I—You have something with Callum I don’t think I’ll ever find. And…well, I kinda messed up my chance with him.”

Rayla stared at the piebald young sorceress in astonishment. “Ye? Are…jealous. Of me.”

A silent nod. “Callum has every reason in the world to hate me. And yet… he still remembers the friendship we had. And he…”, Claudia's voice hitched. “And I think he still wants to be my friend. Which is crazy, because I almost killed him. And you…and…and… Oh Primals! I've made such a mess of everything!”, Claudia pounded her fists into her thighs, then crossed her arms, leaning back heavily against the inn wall, blinking back tears.

Rayla sat on the opposite end of the bench, chin in her hands, elbows on knees, hunched over.

“Thanks for finding me yesterday. And for…”, Claudia trailed off. “And for looking after me.”

“Callum would be mad wi' me fer a month if ah dinnae, so…”, Rayla grumbled. “So, yer welcome.”

A guard trudged past them in the rain.

The door to the inn creaked open, the big carriage driver stepping out onto the porch, sparing the two young women a glance. 

“We can carry on to Whiterun if you’re of a mind, but I’ll warn you now the pass will be bitter cold”, he advised them. “Wilhelm might have some old blankets or such he’d be willing to sell you. Yes or no, tell me now so I can hitch up.”

Claudia nodded. “We’ll carry on.”

“Ah'll go collect grumpy", Rayla offered, standing up, extending her hand. “Back te th' truce?” 

Claudia rose to her feet in turn, hesitated, but shook Rayla's hand. “I never stopped following it since we agreed to it in Riften”, she nodded.

*-*-*

The carriage had passed through the muted but still splendid Autumnal Forest, following the road higher into the mountains that bordered The Rift on the west, the air growing chill as they climbed, drizzle giving way to silent, fluffy snow. The driver had stopped long enough to pull a thick woolen jacket and a black fur cloak from beneath his bench, layering them over his clothing.

Now, as they entered the pass that would lead them to Helgen, Riverwood, and eventually Whiterun, at least according to the faded sign post they had passed at the crossroads, the trees thinned out from the golden-leaved poplars, giving way to sparse conifers.

Harness leather creaked as the draft horse leaned into the traces, and the three passengers wrapped themselves in layers of blankets on the floor of the carriage, huddling together for warmth.

“Tis pretty", Rayla said quietly, breath puffing white in the cold.

Callum and Claudia nodded agreement.

High overhead in the ragged cloud, something groaned menacingly. Hungrily.

The carriage driver flicked the reins, urging the horse into a faster pace.

Callum sensed the change in the driver's attitude. “What’s wrong?”

“Dragon! And I’d really rather not attract it's—Damn, it’s spotted us!”

The winged, scaled horror stooped into it’s attack, flying down the pass directly at them.

“It’s after the horse! Gods damn it!”, the carriage driver bellowed. “Out of the rig! Now! Scatter!”

The trio scrambled to obey, Callum noting that the carriage driver scooped up the heavy crossbow and a quiver of golden-tipped bolts as he quit the vehicle.

A hissing, squealing, deafening roar of flame engulfed the carriage, narrowly missing the four inhabitants as they bolted for safety. The horse was immolated, shrieking in agony as the fire washed over it, the carriage bursting into instant conflagration.

The heavy flat *!TUNG!* as the crossbow loosed it's lethal dart, Claudia screaming, Callum beating out a lick of fire that kissed his jacket, and Rayla, swords out, confused, horrified, torn between duty and love, honor and reverence, fighting or watching her companions die.

This was not any regal, beneficent dragon of Xadia.

This was a monstrous, cunning predator.

Powerful wings beating, hovering above them, the beast roared defiance as a second crossbow bolt found it's mark. Again the flash and lick of blast-furnace breath, the fresh-fallen snow gone instantly to vapor where the fire danced.

“Aspiro Frigis!”, Claudia cried, a spray of jagged ice launching itself from the ground to the sky, the sharp crystals scoring the flank of the airborne menace which bellowed outrage and pain.

Their carriage driver was circling, reloading, cranking back the powerful limbs of his weapon with an efficient jerk that spoke of long practice. “Damn you to Oblivion!”

The dragon landed heavily, leaking dark ichor, screaming vengeance, and plucked the carriage driver off the ground in it's jaws, shaking him like a terrier with a rat, flinging him aside to smash and shatter pine boughs he was flung into.

“No, no, no, no, NO!”, Rayla howled. This wasn’t how dragons were supposed to behave! They were beautiful, and noble, wondrous. Not vengeful, sadistic predators.

“Fulminous!” Lightning shattered the snow-dimmed air, crackling and popping, searing the beast.

The squealing blast-furnace roar, sun-bright, hotter than it had reason to be, Callum cowering behind a stone, lungs gasping heated air.

She was moving without thought, feet finding purchase in the ridges and folds of the dragon's armored hide, almost dancing as she leapt along the length of it's granite-dark neck, knees clasping tight to the back of the monster's horned skull, swords flashing as she slashed and cut, stabbing.

Driving her blade deep into the eye, feeling the crunch of speared bone, forcing the pointed tip into the dragon's brain.

A deep shuddering final exhalation.

The dragon was dead.

Snow fell in silence.

Callum and Claudia stared at her from opposite ends of the dead horror.

She had slain a dragon.

“Oh Xadia", Rayla whispered to herself, horrified beyond measure. “What have ah done?!”

Brilliant illumination boomed and flared, wrapping itself around Rayla in brilliant glowing tendrils, searing and igniting something deep within her, phantasmal flames consuming the carcass, it’s flesh vanishing in puffs of glowing ash until all that remained was ancient, desiccated bones, long, long dead.

Somewhere in the afternoon distance, wolves howled.


	11. Affray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a wee bit of marshmallow fluffy suggestiveness in this one. I'm sure you'll find it.

Almost halfway through the mountain pass that should lead them to the city of Whiterun, the two of the three refugees stared at the other, framed against the backdrop of their hired carriage burning like a torch, the horse dead in it's traces, killed by the fiery blast of a dragon that was now nothing more than a scattering of ancient bones being dusted by fresh fallen snow.

Rayla started shivering, trembling, and not from the cold. She’d spent her entire life training to avenge the death of Avizandum, King of the Dragons, and the theft of the egg of the Dragon Prince. She’d defied her sworn oath to slay the human Prince of Katolis in vengeance, instead rescuing him and his half-brother, saving the Dragon Prince, and gaining a lover in Callum.

And now…now her hands, her swords had slain a dragon.

She'd been ghosted by her people for failing her mission before. Now?

She could never go home.

The thought hammered Rayla to her knees, swords slipping out of her hands to clatter on the cobbles of the road.

Haunted violet eyes stared at Callum. She’d saved him, saved all of them. And lost everything in the process.

Adding to the disaster, they were stranded in an unknown hostile wilderness, their hired carriage and belongings burned, the driver in all likelihood very, very dead. Rayla started breathing hard and fast, on the verge of full-blown panic. 

Callum knelt beside her, taking her into his arms, holding her, whispering reassurances. Rayla clung to him, Callum becoming her only anchor to the world.

“I’ll, umm, I’ll go see…the driver”, Claudia hesitated. “He might—his crossbow and…other things, we could, umm…” She darted away, padding through the fresh snow into the trees where the driver had been thrown by the dragon.

“Wha' have ah done, Callum?”, Rayla panted, eyes wide and wild. “Wha' have ah done?!” 

Callum pulled back Rayla's hood, stroking her sweat-damp hair. “You saved us. It was all you could do—”

“He's alive!!”, Claudia yelped from the treeline. “Our driver! He’s alive!”

Callum and Rayla glanced at each other, a silent agreement, rising and trotting over to where Claudia called them, Rayla collecting her dropped weapons as they went, peering through the broken and snapped branches, a small tree as thick as Callum's lower leg shattered into ragged splinters, and just beyond, slumped at the foot of an outcropping of grey stone, lay the crumpled form of their driver, who's hand twitched near the tiller stock of his crossbow.

A quiet groan as he pawed at a rigid leather belt pouch, fingers fumbling with the fastening. Claudia scurried close, opening the pouch, extracting an amazingly unbroken small scarlet flask, realizing what it was, breaking the wax seal and pulling the stopper, tilting the contents into the driver's open mouth.

A faint, shimmering golden nimbus shrouded the driver's form as the healing potion took effect. 

The driver let out a louder groan, rolling over, levering up on one arm, left hand wreathed in golden light as he triggered a healing spell, the coruscating nimbus enveloping him for a dozen heartbeats.

“Gods dammit, I am getting too old for this shite!”, he complained, rising to his feet, looking around, retrieving his fallen crossbow, inspecting it, testing the lock to see if it still functioned as it should. Satisfied, he eyed the three younger people speculatively.

“Well, you’re all still alive", he smiled tightly. “Which means you either drove the beast off, or you managed to get very lucky and killed it.”

Rayla flick-folded her swords, stowing them in her harness, then hesitantly raised a shaking hand. “Ah did it…”, she confessed.

The congratulatory clap on the shoulder from the big carriage driver shocked her. “Good on ya!”, he grinned, a speculative gleam in his eye as he looked at Rayla, who suddenly realized her horns were exposed.

“Oh, umm, thet is—damn it!”, Rayla flustered. 

Callum had been silent, assessing the now quite healthy and active carriage driver. “You’re not…normal…are you?”, he queried.

An amused scoff from Claudia. “Look who’s talking…”

Callum ignored the mild insult. “No, I mean, you’re not just some average random person, are you? You’ve been adventuring, seen dragons before!”

A measured nod from beneath the canvas hood. “You might say that. I…saw some service with the Legion, travelled a bit as a merchant.”

Claudia was dubious. “I grew up watching soldiers. So did Callum, because he’s a prince—”

“A prince, you say!”, the driver grinned, sketching a slight sarcastic bow. “Your Highness.”

Callum blushed, hand on the back of his neck, glancing away. 

Ignoring the interruption, Claudia continued. “… so we both know a professional, seasoned warrior when we see one.” She tapped the tip of her nose with her finger, smug.

“De ye have a name ye'd be willin' te give us?”, Rayla asked, subdued.

A moment of contemplation. “Call me Ulf for now. We’d better go see what’s left of the carriage.”

Flames danced and crackled, consuming the dry timbers of the carriage, the spoke wheels blazing, fed on the grease used to lubricate the axles in the wheel hubs, the iron tyres starting to glow. Cursing, Ulf wrapped his right hand in his overcoat, reaching into the conflagration to heave a curious chest from beneath the driver's seat onto the ground, dragging it away from the pyre. The scent of roasting horsemeat filled the air.

“I’m afraid you’ve lost your pack and the blankets. Bad luck, that", Ulf noted, kicking the lid of the chest open, the leather straps holding it shut having burned away. Callum noticed the chest had been covered in a scaled leather that look ever-so-slightly familiar that it nagged at him.

Ulf started emptying the contents of the chest onto the ground, sorting them into piles. One pile was pieces of armor, another several weapons, and a third was spare clothing. The afternoon light was fading into a shadowy mountain twilight, so Ulf used the used the firelight to his advantage, changing out of his common traveler’s attire for something more suitable to the situation.

Claudia was handed the black fur cloak Ulf had been wearing when the dragon attacked, and felt noticeably warmer than perhaps latent body heat from the cloak would have provided. Rayla received Ulf's blue overtunic, layering it over her emerald and cobalt bodysuit, securing it by strapping her weapons harness over it, and pulling up her hood again. Callum had Ulf’s overcoat tossed to him, discovering it to be several sizes larger than fit him, but was glad of the warmth it provided.

Ulf strapped on greaves, knee-cops, and cuisses, fastening them to his belt, drew on a padded gambeson, then girded his hips with faulds and tassets. A harness supported his vambraces, elbow-cops, and rebraces. A decorated but battle-worn cuirass was next, and the pauldrons were strapped in place to protect Ulf's shoulders and neck. A sword belt cinched in place about Ulf's waist supported a heavy single-edged sword with broad quillions, and paired scabbards holding odd bent-bladed heavy knives rested in the small of his back. Ulf tugged his canvas hood back in place over his silver-kissed braided black hair, finally donning gauntlets with a definite wolf motif after securing a bandolier of pouches in place. A black cloth cloak from the chest was draped over his armor to provide a modicum of warmth.

“Right”, Ulf nodded. “We’re two or three miles from the pass summit. The light should hold until then, then it’s downhill all the way past Helgen to Riverwood. We should be there in time for supper tomorrow, Whiterun the morning after that.”

“Oooh, goody", Rayla groused, grimacing. “Nothin' like a forced march at twilight. Not even moonberries to look forward to when we make camp… ”

Using one of his big, bent-bladed knives, Ulf stripped a tree bough into a walking staff, then used it to sweep the golden-bladed sword Callum had found in Shroud Hearth Barrow out of the still-burning carriage onto the road, tossing the staff to Claudia. Cradling his crossbow, Ulf scooped up the sword, tossing it to Callum, who promptly dropped the warm, but not hot blade.

Callum had skipped back half a step to avoid losing toes to the dropped blade, more surprised that the sword was nowhere as heated as it should have been. Curious, he gingerly lifted the blade again.

“That’s amazing!”, Callum breathed, astounded. “It's barely warm!”

“Dwemer metal”, Ulf grinned in the fading light. “It takes more than that little campfire to work the stuff. Smelting it is a right pain in the arse! By the pattern, I'd say that’s an original Dwemer sword, taken from one of their ruins.”

A low growl from the treeline caught Ulf's attention. “We'd best get a move on. Wolves. Attracted by the scent of roasting horse.”

Ulf set the pace, walking ten steps, jogging ten steps, walking ten steps, jogging ten steps, an endless cycle that had Callum and Claudia pushing to keep up, but Rayla found easy to drop into. The sun had almost set ahead of them, behind the rolling bulk of the foothills of the immense mountain Wilhelm in Ivarstead had called Throat of the World.

Rayla paced herself beside Callum, letting Ulf and Claudia pull slightly ahead of them, speaking softly. “Ah lost the knife Iona gave us", she confessed. “ ‘Twas in th' pack we lost when th' carriage burned. Ah'm sorry, Callum. ‘Twas stupid o' me.”

Callum grinned in the deepening twilight, puffing slightly. “Don’t beat yourself up, Rayla. Look.” He'd slipped a hand into his satchel, and now she saw the glassy black pommel-stone of the dagger protruding from under the satchel flap, held by Callum. “I slipped it in my satchel just in case.”

“Callum, yer a genius", Rayla smiled, feeling somewhat relieved.

Ulf had slowed to a walk, and Callum and Rayla quickly caught up as Ulf eyed the scattering of brush and scraggly small trees. “We'll rest here, risk a fire. Better to be warm while we sleep.”

Massar loomed in the sky, three-quarters full, Secunda a dark void lurking in Massar’s shadow. They could hear the hiss and crackle of the sheeting aurora that rioted all the colors of the rainbow overhead.

Ulf quickly assembled an angled brush hut over a pallet of late leaves and dry grasses, encouraging his three charges to snuggle close to each other, covered by the black fur cloak while he built a fire. Lying prone, propped up on her elbows, Rayla mournfully eyed the last few swallows of moonberry juice in her small flask. The paltry amount of liquid and a handful of dried moonberries were all that remained of her home. Rayla took a careful, measured sip, cherishing it.

Callum lay between Claudia and Rayla, his back to the girl he'd grown up with, Rayla snuggled close to his chest as she settled, her head pillowed on his arm as she had in Riften, Ulf’s thick overcoat folded as a headrest for all of them. Callum’s free arm draped over Rayla’s torso, and she held it comfortably close to her, his hand nestled between her breasts. Claudia fussed a bit, trying to get comfortable, eventually giving up dignity and draping a leg over Callum's in the close confines the brush hut demanded. He could feel her warm breath on the back of his neck.

This fire was welcome, the flickering heat lulling the exhausted travelers into sleep as Ulf kept watch in the dark, wary for unknown threats.

*-*-*

Callum blinked awake hours later, slightly alarmed. He was trapped.

Behind him, soft panting breaths as Claudia suggestively, rhythmically pressed her hips into his backside in her sleep, her hand having crept under his jacket, the slow pressure moving Callum in turn, his pelvis gently bumping the soft presence of Rayla in front of him, who exhaled a soft, throaty growl as she pressed and ground her bottom back against him as she dreamed.

‘I’m gonna die', Callum thought to himself. ‘They’re gonna wake up and kill me.’

Claudia shuddered slightly behind him, a quiet gasp cutting off to silence as she realized where her hand was, quickly withdrawn.

“Oh…umm…I’m—that is", Claudia whispered. “Sorry…”

Callum could hear the blush in her voice as Rayla stirred, stretching like a cat.

“Ah dinnae believe ah slept so well in ages”, the Moonshadow elf smiled, rolling to gaze fondly at Callum. She paused, seeing Claudia blushing furiously behind him, Callum’s self-conscious half-smile that meant he wanted to apologize but had no idea what for, or where to begin. Rayla’s sensitive nose provided the last clues, picking up the faint whiffs of arousal from all of them. 

“Oh my, di’ we all hae some spicy dreams?”, Rayla teased with a giggle. Callum’s blush and Claudia’s sudden scrambling lunge from beneath the cloak to quit the brush hut confirmed her suspicions, the giggle becoming a full-throated laugh.

The commotion woke Ulf, who had dozed off beneath his black cloth cloak, now coated with a thin layer of snow, which had thankfully stopped falling.

After breaking down and scattering the brush hut, and extinguishing the night's campfire, breakfast was consumed on the road, making their way down the western flank of the mountain, consisting of dried meat for Ulf, Callum, and Claudia, with Ulf handing a sprig of what he called ‘snowberries' to Rayla, who was admittedly dubious at first glance.

“Yer sure these are safe te eat?”, Rayla inquired, examining the thorn-tipped leaves that resembled holly.

Ulf nodded, popping a few of the small red fruits from the same evergreen bush into his mouth. “Grew up on ‘em.”

Rayla shrugged, plucking a handful of the berries off the sprig she’d been handed, trying one experimentally. Tartly sweet, with a pleasant woody aftertaste. She grinned. Nothing to replace moonberries, true, but these would do in a pinch.

Ulf cocked and loaded his crossbow as they walked. “Just in case", he winked.

It was almost midday when the burned and tumbled ruin of the fortified town of Helgen rose just into hazy sight in the distance through the gap in the forest of dark foreboding conifers which had risen on each side of the cobbled road as they made their way downslope.

Movement caught Callum’s eye, descending from the forested slope to their right. Three soldiers clad in jazeraint hauberks that had seen better days, bright blue tabards draped over their shoulders, two wearing full bascinet helms, the third, possibly some kind of commander or officer wearing a horned open-face helmet and blue cloak adorned with a snarling bear head in white painted line work.

“Halt!”, the officer commanded. “We have no argument with a fellow Nord, but the Imperial dogs you travel with must pay the toll, in coin or in kind.”

Ulf sighed, handing Claudia his ornate crossbow, still loaded, and stared resignedly at the soldiers. “Are you absolutely certain you want to do this?”

“You’re right”, the officer grinned. “It’ll be so much easier to ‘tax' the women with you and the lad dead!”

The almost dismissively casual underhand flick of one of the odd bent-bladed knives by Ulf caught the officer by surprise when the leaf-shaped weapon buried itself in his chest, splitting the armor like soft cheese. The draw-and-throw motion swept into Ulf pulling his single-edged sword in a whirl of black cloak as he spun, neatly decapitating the second soldier, a puff of eldritch enchantment on the blade immolating the corpse as it tumbled in opposite directions. 

Ulf had barely taken a step in pursuit of the final assailant when the crossbow thrummed it's brief lethal song, the bolt taking the escaping soldier high in the right shoulder, spinning and pitching them face-up on the ground, watching in stark terror as the jet of flame leapt from Ulf's left hand to send them screaming to Oblivion. 

Rayla and Callum stood, shocked by the sudden deadly response, Claudia sinking to her knees, clutching Ulf’s crossbow like a temple icon.

“They—they would have brought others", she sniffled, tears sliding down her cheeks. ”I…I had to!”


	12. Ascention

“You don’t understand", Claudia mumbled, green eyes staring into the distance, clutching Ulf's ornate crossbow in her arms, her gown and borrowed black fur cloak puddled around her as she knelt on the road. “I had to…I had to…”

Callum took half a step towards the young sorceress. “Clauds? You okay?”

“I had to…to bring Him back…”, Claudia muttered, staring at Callum over her shoulder, not seeing him. “But it’s not Him. Is it, Soren? Father is gone…gone away, fell away, so far away…”, she sing-songed, half-giggling. “He’s coming…shhh…Don’t tell! He's hiding!” Hissed, warning, defensive.

Circling to kneel in front of Claudia, Callum gently pried the crossbow out of her grip. “Claudia? Hey, come back. You’re scaring your friends.”

Green eyes, wild, terrified, haunted, framed by deep dark brown and stark white, stared at Callum. 

“I had to…He was all I had left…after Soren…but he’s gone, and I brought Him back, but its not him! It’s not him! It's dark and cold and oh, so, so hungry!”, Claudia whimpered, frantic. “He died, and I—I ki—I used…there was so much…It's hungry and it wants us—shhh, no! Mustn’t tell!” Claudia's eyes, pupils wide and dark, stared at Callum.

“Oh, Callum! Help—help m-m…", Claudia's voice faded as she swooned, Callum clumsily catching her, trying not to drop the crossbow.

“Oohhh, thet’s jest wonderful!", Rayla mocked, exhaling shakily. “Our favorite dark magic-using sorceress, who chased us across Katolis and Xadia, doin' her level best te kill us, and who got us lost Xadia-knows-where, decides te chuck a wobbly! Bloody fantastic!”

“Not helping, Rayla!”, Callum warned. 

Ulf returned, having dragged the bodies of the soldiers-cum-brigands uphill into the brush, recovering his blade, cleaning it and his sword on the officer's blue cloak, then relieving them of their coin pouches, plucking his crossbow out of Callum’s hand, and slinging it on his back.

“Her first kill?”

Callum nodded, blowing out a shuddering breath. “Oh yeah…” He swallowed hard, fighting down nausea at the fresh memory of the sudden fatal violence. He'd seen conflict, war, but not this close, this brutally personal.

Rayla giggled, nervously. “Xadia! She’s killed more than ah have, and ah spent my life training as an assassin!”

Ulf’s hooded head snapped up, wary, hand on the hilt of his bent-bladed knife.

Callum sighed, head bowed. “Rayla, I love you, but you're driving me batty and I would like it if we could take a big ol' step back from this and keep trying to keep our heads attached to our bodies. Will you please tell me what is bothering you?!”

“’Tis Claudia an' her dark magic!”, Rayla reminded him. “’Tis always her dark magic thet causes th’ problem!”

“Okay, yes, Clauds’ use of dark magic is definitely a problem, no argument!”, Callum agreed. “But you were freaking out pretty bad yourself yesterday after you almost singlehandedly saved us from a dragon that wanted to eat us!”

“Ye think ah don’t know thet!” Violet eyes glared at Callum. “Ah were raised te revere dragons, te honor an’ defend them! An' ah had te kill one! ‘Tis tearin’ me up inside!”

“We fought a war, during the Merethic Era. Long, dark, and bloody, to free the world from the Dragon Cult and it's priests”, Ulf rumbled, eyes dark. “We Nords have long memories. And we'll not bend the knee again to such.”

Rayla paled, staring at Ulf, suddenly comprehending his words. “Oh Xadia…”

“Can…can we all just take a deep breath and calm down?”, Callum suggested, still holding an unconscious Claudia. “Scared people, a long way from home, and a damsel in distress. Can we deal with that first? Please?”

Ulf glanced at Callum, nodded, then regarded Rayla.

“You and I need to have a sit down, and you’re going to tell me everything.” Ulf’s tone made it plain to her this wasn’t a suggestion.

Callum sighed, relieved the tension had dissipated for the moment. “So, uh, how do we get sleeping beauty here down the mountain?”

Ulf more-or-less politely kneed Callum aside, lifting Claudia in his arms. “We’re wasting daylight.”

*-*-*

Claudia blinked.

Where was she?

The large ornate dining table of dark, heavy wood, laden with food, drink, and delectable treats she understood. The cushioned, comfortable throne-like chair she was seated in, she understood. She could almost understand why they were sitting outside, in a grove of ancient barren trees, under a completely overcast sky of pale tangerine, the muted sunlight hazy, indirect, and eternal.

It was her dining companion that she was having trouble comprehending. 

He squatted in the seat of his chair, a curious slender squirrel of a man, silver hair neatly combed, oiled and coiffed, beard trimmed in a stylish pointed goatee, dressed in resplendent slash and puff doublet with lace-attached sleeves and trunk-hose of shimmering purple silk with gold embroidery and embellishments, the sleeves of the undertunic and hose contrasting solid gold and purple on opposite limbs. Polished shoes of black leather with amethyst encrusted gold buckles graced his narrow feet. 

“Ha-ha! Yer awake! Excellent! Excellent!”, her host cried in delight, black obsidian eyes with golden cat-slit pupils glittering in amusement. “And I was just havin' the cheese melted, to pour into yer eye sockets!”

“What?!”, Claudia complained, appalled. “Why would you do that? Where am I?”

“Cheese poached eyeballs are delicious! Ye really ought to try them, just once!”, the man crowed, kissing the fingertips of one hand in exaltation. “As fer where we are, why cozy-comfy deep in yer own twisted mind! I’ve got to say, I just love what you’ve done with the place in such a short time! Truly, a masterpiece!”

“Who are you?!”

“Why, dear pet, sweet little morsel", the man grinned, “I’m none other than Sheogorath, Lord of the Never-There, Daedric Prince of Madness, at yer service! Ye are of course, completely overawed and pleased to make such a notable acquaintance! Or I might be Alice, the naughty chambermaid. But only if ye want me to play jump-rope with yer intestines!”

Claudia shivered, realising she was clothed in an ornate gown of pale white silk, studded with a tracery of pearls, her long, lustrous hair once again one glorious shade of deepest brown, caught up in an elegant, elaborate braided bun, held by long, wickedly sharp pearl-headed hairpins.

“Oh, I’ve got to wake up!”, Claudia pleaded with herself. “Please, wake up!”

“Now why would ye want to go back to boring old Mundis, and it’s dreary, petty reality? So over-rated, if ye ask me, but ye didn’t!", Sheogorath chuckled. “We rather like it here, might take another little vacation, only a century or two… Just long enough to see in the new era, ye understand.”

Shuddering, Claudia whimpered at the prospect. “I’m not crazy! I’m not crazy!”

Sheogorath leaned far over the table, close enough Claudia could smell his breath, honey and grave mold. “Oh, my sweet wee hamster, my carrot of delight, why deny the fact ye invited a howling denizen of the outer void to take up residence in yer sweet, psychopathic, manipulative and backstabbin' father's smashed and broken carcass, just to play Happy Family Fun-time unless ye weren’t gibbering batshit already? By the way, are ye shaggin' anyone regular-like? I'm on the market, as it were.”

Claudia was breathing hard, trying to concentrate. She was a mage. A mage! Training, concentration, will, focus. This was her mind. She made the rules.

“Get out.”

“Sorry, ye said somethin'?”, Sheogorath smiled invitingly, seated prim and polite in his chair. “I was busy doin' the fishstick. Very delicate and complicated bit of work, that.”

“Get. Out.”, Claudia commanded. “It’s my mind!”

“Are ye certain? I mean, it’s not like I'd be hurtin' anything if I stayed, would it?”

“Leave. Now.”

“Last chance…I dance divinely. Especially on the freshly torn-out livers of me most ardent and devoted followers”, the Daedric Prince offered.

“!erom-reverof denosirpmi dna denifnoc eb ot, ssenkrad fo erutaerc, uoy dnammoc dna erujba I", Claudia uttered the enchantment.

“Well, if yer going to be rude about it, fine! I'll leave! But just see if ye ever find someone else as dashing and blissfully insane as we are!” Sheogorath stormed out in a flouncing huff, slamming the door into Claudia's mind as the Daedra vanished.

*-*-*

Claudia jolted back to awareness and reality with a heaving gasp, green eyes wide, piebald hair whipping as she realised she was being carried, cradled in strong arms. Her Father?

No. He was— Her mind shied away again. 

Ulf. The carriage driver. The warrior. He was carrying her. She noticed how the late morning sunlight picked out the flecks of silver his dark beard.

“Do you think you're able to walk?”, Ulf inquired.

Claudia nodded, and Ulf put her down, waiting until she was steady on her feet. Callum and Rayla were nearby, examining three tall standing stones, half again as tall as they were, decorated with carvings and notable for the metal rims fitted to the head-sized holes that had been cut through them.

“The Guardian Stones", Ulf explained. “Three of the thirteen ancient stones of Skyrim. As waymarkers, it means we're about an hour or so walk from Riverwood.”

Claudia nodded absently, intrigued by the current of arcane energy she could almost perceive.

Trying to peer through the hole in the Guardian Stone decorated by the depiction of an armed and armored warrior, Rayla leaned close, curious. Behind her, she could hear Callum scribbling, sketching in his book. Her fingertips brushed the stone, and an almost imperceptible flash of pale blue-white light speared into the cloudy sky.

Callum blinked. “What just happened?!”

A chuckle from behind them. Ulf. “The Warrior Stone. I’m not surprised.”

“Okay, that doesn’t answer my question", Callum pointed out. 

Ulf shrugged. “The old sagas say some are chosen to receive a boon from the Stones that aid them in their destinies. None can who is blessed, or why. Now, if you’re finished sight-seeing, we should get on our way. The ale is getting warm at the Sleeping Giant.”

The small group had passed a set of timber of steps laid into a pathway leading uphill to an old mine, according to Ulf, rounding the shoulder of a hill when Rayla’s sensitive ears flicked as she picked up sounds of padded footsteps in the forest, following them, paralleling their course. 

Leaping atop a small bluff that overlooked the road, Rayla scanned the shadowed woodland.

“Trouble?”, Callum asked, concerned, his grip tightening on the Dwemer sword he carried in hand.

Rayla nodded, feeling *something* tugging deep within her, yearning to be unleashed…

“Probably wolves", Ulf concurred. “Game has been sparse recently. We'd best be wary.”

They continued along the road, Rayla preferring to keep to the grassy verge, eyes alert, ready to draw and deploy her blades in a heartbeat. Ahead lay the southern wall and gate of Riverwood, just visible in the distance. Just before the gate, a small cabin sat alone, separate from the habitation.

Three great, shaggy grey wolves loped out of the forest shadows, angling to cut them off. Ulf spun, drawing his sword, ready to fend off the rear attack sure to come. Silent, the wolves examined their intended prey with hungry yellow eyes.

“!KAAN!”

The Shout boomed forth from Rayla's lips, the wolves shying, going from predatory to uninterested in a heartbeat, turning and trotting back into the forest, tails high, tongues lolling in open-mouthed acceptance.

Callum and Claudia stared at Rayla. Ulf, enigmatic and silent as a cat, smiled from beneath his canvas hood, knowing. 

“That was…special…”, Claudia blinked.

Ulf sheathed his sword, leading the small troupe into the forest village. A water-wheel powered sawmill on a small island to their left, with a smithy and two-story building that contained a merchant's enterprise opposite each other on the main route through town. Beyond the store, a signpost proclaimed the location of the Sleeping Giant Inn, with the rest of the town straggling up the shallow slope in a scattering of smallholdings with attendant gardens and animal pens.

A call of recognition rang out from the rope-railed second floor balcony of the merchant's store, bootheels clattering down the outside stairs, resulting in a young woman with dark, curly shoulder length hair, clad in wolf-themed armor that struggled to contain a voluptuous form. Two wood-hafted maces with ornate but functional steel heads hung from the baldric wrapped around her hips.

“What did I tell you was going to happen the next time you dared show your face in town?”, she demanded, glaring at Ulf, who grinned in reply, spreading his arms.

“Bring it on", Ulf challenged.

A squeal of delight from the blue-eyed young woman, and she launched herself at Ulf, who stepped forward to catch her in mid-air as she wrapped her arms about his armored shoulders and her shapely legs about his hips.

“It’s been ages, Ulf!”, she laughed. “No letters, no couriers! You’ve been very mean! I’m bored, stuck out here in the sticks!”

Left arm supporting the young woman's weight beneath her thigh, Ulf waved at the trio with his right, who stood in open-mouthed surprise. “Some new friends, mostly, I think. Callum, Rayla, Claudia, meet Gunhild, honored member of the Companions!”

Gunhild reluctantly released her grip on Ulf, dropping to the road, shaking each of their hands in turn. “So you’re the reason why Ulf is delayed—”

“!!DOHV-A-KIIN!!”

The ground shook, and the sky rumbled at the call that echoed across the lands the Throat of the World loomed over.

Ulf sighed, resigned.

“They can wait, dammit.”


	13. Affection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild warning: Nudity and definite non-sexual intimacy. Romantic fluff in plenty.

Rain arrived before the mountain valley sunset in the small village of Riverwood, providing ample reason for both local inhabitants and travelers to seek drier environs indoors, either in their homes or the local inn.

Ulf and Gunhild had pulled one of the trestle tables away from the wall to the foot of the common room fire pit, commandeering a second bench so the party could sit facing each other while they ate and conversed. Callum and Rayla sat on one side, backs to the door and Callum closer to the wall than the fire pit, Ulf sitting beside Gunhild, with Claudia to her left opposite Callum.

Ulf had excused himself after making sure Callum, Rayla, and Claudia has lodgings for the night, repairing to the small cabin outside town Gunhild referred to as ‘Vuoksi’, to remove and clean his armor before joining them for supper. He must have felt reasonably comfortable and secure in Riverwood, because when he returned, his customary hood had been left at the cabin, and he was dressed in a red tunic over dark blue trews, his belt supporting only one of the bent-bladed knives.

Gunhild had discarded her armor for the evening in favor of a dark grey tunic over tight black hose and thigh-high soft black leather riding boots.

Claudia eyed Ulf and Gunhild, the casual intimacy, and inquired if they were involved romantically.

Gunhild trilled scandalized laughter. “Divines, no! His wives would skin me! We've been nothing but comrades in arms, shield-sibs for, what, three years now, Ulf?”

Ulf nodded, smiling, sipping from an alehorn. “About that. Three years and a few battles.”

“Wait. You have two wives?!”, Claudia challenged, disbelieving, one eyebrow raised.

A casual affirmative nod from Ulf, while Gunhild chuckled. “He can afford them”, she said.

Claudia nodded, a half-smile of understanding quirking her lips. “We’ve had the odd hint Ulf is not just some common stablehand.”

“Ulf is anything but common", Gunhild grinned, then took several swallows from her tankard.

The big warrior regarded Rayla for a moment. “You’re amongst friends. No need for your hood here.”

Hesitantly, and only because Callum gave her an encouraging nod, Rayla pulled back her green hood, revealing her white hair, delicate pointed ears, and short, curving black horns, awaiting the inevitable comments on her heritage.

Gunhild stared. Rayla glanced away, self-conscious.

“So that’s what your face markings look like properly! I couldn’t tell because of the shadows from your damned hood!”, Gunhild grinned. “Are they tattoos or…?”

Rayla felt an odd, pleasant surge of relief. “Nae, they're from a moonberry based pigment, almost permanent once applied”, she explained.

Orgnar, the gruff, laconic innkeeper delivered a wide platter containing their meal, grunted thanks for their patronage, and returned to lean on the bar as was his custom.

Ulf handed Rayla a wooden bowl containing a heaping portion of a local dish, composed of mashed baked potato, cabbage, leeks, and butter, topped with a dollop of sour cream. “Colcannon. Enjoy.”

Rayla spooned up an experimental bite, tasted it, then lifted the bowl in one hand and started eating with healthy appetite. Callum grinned, and tucked into his own repast.

Jugs of ale, mead, and cider were shared as Callum, Rayla, and Claudia explained where they were from and how they had come to be in Skyrim.

“So, what your saying is, you’re all daedra, technically”, Gunhild nodded in comprehension. “That explains the horns.”

Rayla shook her head. “Nae. Me horns are jest part n' parcel o' bein' a Moonshadow Elf.”

“All the elves in Xadia have horns”, Claudia nodded in confirmation.

“They’re…umm…certainly distinctive", Gunhild smiled. “Beautiful, even.”

Callum grinned. “I always thought so.”

Rayla blushed to her pointed ears while Claudia glowered.

“Ah’ve only met a few other elves, all in Riften”, Rayla explained. “Two had blue-grey skin an' called themselves ‘Dunmer', an’ Jarl Laila’s traitorous bitch o’ a castellan, all pale gold.”

“Anuriel", Ulf nodded. “She’s Altmer.”

“What’s the difference?”, Claudia huffed. “An elf's an elf.”

Rayla glared at Claudia. Callum looked askance towards the roofbeams.

“Clauds, don’t you think it's time to give up your bigotry?”, Callum snapped, honestly annoyed. “Wasn’t one war enough for you?”

Claudia stared at Callum, open-mouthed in shock. “That was uncalled for!”

The trio jumped when Ulf slapped the table. “If you want to be racist, Claudia, I’m sure the Stormcloaks would cheerfully admit you to their ranks.”

Claudia was slightly confused. “What are the Stormcloaks? Or is it who?”

“You met three of them earlier today”, Ulf smiled tightly. “You used my crossbow to put a bolt through one of them after they announced their intention to ‘toll' you and Rayla. Probably to death.”

Claudia paled. “Oh, stars…”, she whispered in horrified understanding.

Ulf closed his eyes, frowning. “I don’t intend unkindness, but Skyrim has enough problems, we don’t need additional ones. Settle your affairs, quietly, amicably. Good evening.” He drained his alehorn, rose from his seat and departed into the rainy night.

Gunhild smirked, lifting her tankard. “That was Ulf telling you politely to get your shite in one pile.” A demure sip. “I’d listen were I you.”

Callum stood. “I’m…I apologise, Clauds. I didn’t mean to…” A sigh. “I’m tired. Going to bed. ‘Night.” Rayla rose and followed him to their room.

The young sorceress fidgeted with her wooden spoon, embarrassed. Gunhild leaned casually on the table, one hand supporting her head, elbow on the table, the other hand's fingertips idly circling the rim of her tankard, regarding Claudia.

“You’ve sure got a winning way with people, Silver-lock”, Gunhild observed wryly.

“Am I a bad person?” Claudia’s voice was very small.

Gunhild drained her drink, shook her head. “I don’t know you well enough. Yet. That said, I loathe the Stormcloaks. And everything they stand for. Mostly because they made me an orphan.”

Claudia poured herself a tankard of ale, drank it in several heaving gulps, poured herself another.

“Careful", Gunhild cautioned. “A sore head and a queasy gut is your future if you start drinking like that.”

The emptied tankard clattered on the table. “I seem to excel at making bad choices", Claudia complained.

A surprisingly gentle hand on Claudia's shoulder suddenly became a compassionate, supportive embrace. Claudia flinched, stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, responding to the honest, undemanding human contact.

Quiet, shaking sobs came moments later. “I mess everything up…”

“It’s alright, Silver-lock. It’s alright…”

*-*-*

Callum sat on the wide bed, kicking off his boots, briefly toying with the idea of hurling them against the wall, slipping his satchel strap off and shrugging out of his short jacket instead. Rayla stood, silent, her hands clasped behind her back, leaning against the door, watching him with concern.

A sigh, Callum staring at the tall wardrobe on the wall opposite the bed. A candle lantern flickered on the desk in the corner, and two goathorn lamps on tables providing welcome golden light. “I’m alright.”

“No, yer not.” Quiet. Honest.

“I’m tired, Ray. Tired of being peacemaker, tired of trying to keep Claudia from doing something so stupid she gets all of us killed. I miss Ez. I miss Aunt Amaya. I miss home.” Callum stared at the intricately woven rug on the stone floor, slouched over, elbows on his knees, hands dangling.

Rayla sat beside him on the bed. “Welcome te bein' a ghost”, she acknowledged sadly. “Losin' everything, everyone. Ah’m…kinda getting used te it.”

“Your not alone, Rayla.” Callum took her hand. “Getting used to loneliness isn’t a good thing. It means your heart is turning to stone.” 

“Stone dinnae break.”

Callum scoffed. “Look around. What did they build this inn out of?”

“Hav' ah e’er mentioned ah hate hae smug ye get when yer right?”, Rayla deadpanned. 

“I think…I think we need something to…”, Callum half-smiled, not quite embarrassed, but wanting to change the subject. “Remember that night in Riften?”

Rayla scoffed. “When Iona—”

“Exactly.”

Rayla looked away, embarrassed, a bit excited, wistful. “Umm, yeah. Ah do…but…ah dinnae know if ah’m…”

“I have an idea", Callum kissed her cheek. “Let's start there, see what happens?”

Rayla nodded, tucking a strand of white hair behind her ear. 

“Don’t move. Not yet", Callum told her. “Wait until I get back.”

Callum slipped out the door in stocking feet, leaving Rayla to sit and reflect on her relationship with the impulsive human. After all they had been through, and now their present circumstances, she loved him, trusted him. If she couldn’t go home, then she would make a home, wherever Callum was.

When he returned, backing through the door, Callum was carrying a large bucket filled with steaming water, a folded cloth draped over the edge, and what proved to be two bath towels hung over his shoulder. He set down the bucket, and laid one of the towels neatly on the floor, placing the other on the bed. A knock at the door was Orgnar the innkeeper delivering a small brazier of live coals on a stand to warm the room.

After Orgnar departed, Callum closed the door and tripped the latch so it couldn’t be opened from the outside.

“No interruptions this time", Callum nodded. 

Rayla shivered slightly in pleasurable anticipation.

He knelt, slipping off her high boots, setting them aside, releasing the buckles of her weapons harness, gathering it, placing it on the bedside table. Rayla’s breath caught for a moment as Callum released the fastenings of her suit, gently opening it, peeling it from her body. She stood long enough to allow him to slide the garment down and off her shapely legs.

“Sit.”

When she’d settled, Callum retrieved a bone comb from his satchel, sat behind her, and after removing his own wine-colored tunic, began to comb out her hair.

Rayla shivered and blushed, hands wrapped over her belly, thrilled and slightly intimidated by the gentle familiarity. Yes, they'd come close to mounting each other just days ago, but this…this was somehow even more intense, more affectionately intimate. The tips of the comb’s teeth gently scratched her scalp, soothing her.

“It’s starting to get long…” Rayla could hear the admiring smile in Callum’s voice. “I could braid it for you.”

Rayla stopped breathing for a span of heartbeats. ‘Oh stars! Does he know?’, she thought, slightly frantic. “Oh nae, ye dinnae hav' te do thet", she mumbled, hands clenching the frame of the bed.

Feather soft touch swept her silver-white hair over her left shoulder, gentle hands on her hips, his lips kissing fire up the right side of her neck, her earlobe, the delicate pinnae, provoking a throaty, shuddering gasping giggle.

“Tease! Ye know thet tickles!”

“I love that laugh…”

Callum moved from behind her, tested the water with a fingertip, nodded, then knelt in front of Rayla, and drew up the tinglingly-warm damp cloth, lightly, soothingly cleaning her face and neck.

“Oh, Callum…” Rayla shuddered, lost in sensation, in the intense flood of emotion at the tenderness of the act he was performing. “Nae, please, ye dinnae…”

“Shh. I want to. This is… you're all I have left of home. And… you’re, well, you’re my family now”, Callum attempted to explain. “Let me…I know you’ve been having a hard time ever since Claudia fouled her spell and exiled us all here. Let me cherish you, by, well… doing this for you."

Rayla sniffled, violet eyes gazing into his green, nodded imperceptibly, and kissed him. “Alright…”

Slow, sensual strokes of the warm wet cloth, over Rayla’s shoulders, lingeringly down the length of her arms, caressing her hands and fingers, broad, sweeping passes down her back that left her languid, then gentle, reverent daubing touch on her throat, breasts, and belly, making her whimper softly with pleasure.

‘Oh my’, Rayla purred to herself, ‘Ah could get right used te this…’

“Stand, please. Turn your back to me.”

Shivering, excited, Rayla did as requested, hearing Callum rinse and half-wring out the cloth. Wet heat gliding over her hips, the curves and cleft of her bottom, drawing an unexpected shuddering passionate gasp from her lips.

“Turn, please.”

More liquid caress, her lower belly, so vulnerable, shockingly, pleasurably intimate, Callum’s breath cool fanning on her aching nethers, his touch making her tremble, then the cloth working down each of her legs, his hand nudging Rayla to sit again as he cleaned her feet, washing each toe in turn.

Every part of her sang with delight, with sensation, her pale skin gleaming and wet.

“Oh, Callum", Rayla breathed, eyes slightly glazed, “Thet was absolutely amazin’…”

“Not finished", Callum smiled, and he applied the second towel to her, gently drying her off.

Rayla hummed in pleasure, mind drifting.

“Lie down, on your belly.”

Curious, more than slightly aroused, Rayla complied, stretching enticingly.

Callum swung a leg over her hips, and started kneading the muscles of her shoulders and back, working his way down slowly, releasing the knots and tension he found, shifting, moving down slightly on Rayla’s legs, using his thumbs to dig into the large muscles of her bottom, making her gasp sharply in shock, pleasure, and relief, descending into a soft throaty moan.

He shifted again, settling between her calves. Fingertips trailed down the backs of her thighs, then up the inside of her legs, thumbs almost, almost, just ever so slightly grazing the sensitive lips of her nethers.

Rayla buried her face in the pillow to muffle the sudden explosive moan as she rippled and bucked in shuddering passionate release. 

She drifted back to awareness, perceiving her love laying beside her, a self-satisfied smile on his face. Warm, almost darkness, just one lone lamp on the bedside table lit.

“Ye smug bastard", Rayla grinned sleepily, quiet and affectionate. “Wha' di' ye do te' me? Ah cannae feel me toes! They’re all atingle!”

“You like?”

Rayla reached out a three-fingered hand to ruffle his brown locks, caress his face. “As soon as ah find me legs, yer in fer sech payback”, she smiled.

Callum moved, shifting over her, his naked form brushing her skin as he passed, settling between her and the wall, drawing up the quilts to cover both of them. Rayla turned on her left side, her head pillowed on Callum’s left arm as had become her habit, pulling his right arm up to nestle his hand between her breasts.

“Ah'm nae as scared as ah was, Callum. Ye… yer me home.”

A kiss on her ear.

“I love you, my Moonshadow maiden.”

Rayla sighed, content.

“Ah love ye, too.”


	14. Arcane

Fluttering lamplight caught Rayla’s attention. She watched the way the filamentous tip of the flame flickered and danced, frequently leaning towards the tall wardrobe that stood on the floor opposite the bed, as if there was a faint draft that leaked in from under the door to the common room, seeking an occulted exit.

Intensely curious, Rayla slipped out of bed, Callum grumbling quietly in his sleep, clumsily groping to pet her backside affectionately. She shivered slightly, her naked body reacting to the cool air in the room. 

The brass nail-studded panelled double doors of the wardrobe creaked open at her touch when she tugged on the twisted brass ring pulls. Empty.

Empty.

Not even spare quilts stacked or hung within.

She looked closer, eyes darting, using the skilled techniques of tracking and observation Runaan had spent day after day instructing her in.

There!

A scuff on the floor of the wardrobe, such as might be made by a bootheel dragged over sun-baked mud. A scuff that stopped abruptly at the back panel of the piece of well-made cabinetry.

Rayla pushed tentatively with both hands on the back panel, feeling it give slightly instead of flexing. A slightly firmer push tripped the mechanism, the panel sliding aside to the right into a pocket concealed in the wall.

Stone steps led down into shadowed darkness.

“Callum!”, she hissed, attempting to keep her voice low, half-turning to look at him still laying in bed. “Oi! Wake up, ye great lump!”

“’S early, Rayla”, Callum grumbled, face half-buried in the pillows, eyes closed, brown hair a tousled mess. “Come back to bed and snuggle.”

The thought of such casual intimacy brought a pleasant flush to her cheeks.

“Ah found a secret passage!”, Rayla explained, voice hushed.

A green eye snapped open. Callum was suddenly wide awake. “What?”

“A secret passage, an' stairs, goin' below th' inn!”

Callum flipped back the quilts, swinging out of bed, hissing in annoyance as his feet found the one patch of cold bare stone floor, padding on bare feet to stand beside her. Lights flared into life as they watched, without flicker or waver. Mage light. Suggestion of a respectably sized chamber at the bottom of the stairs.

“This is such a not good idea", Callum hesitated. “We’ve got no idea what or who might be down there.”

Rayla stepped towards the stairs, her intent plainly evident.

“Uh, maybe some clothes?, Callum suggested.

“Nae time.”

Callum sighed and followed her down the steps. “If I die naked, I’m haunting you.”

The chamber was just slightly larger than the inn room above, built of stone, walls and floor, with a solidly timbered roof above. A solidly-built wooden table in the center of the room, crates and barrels for bulk storage to their left, a row of bookshelves crowded with volumes and a multitude of odd collected objects opposite the stairs they had just descended, and racks holding harnesses of well-used armor in two distinct unfamiliar patterns, and several swords of various types, oiled and honed blades gleaming in the light to their right.

A book lay on the table, bound in sable leather with a silver embellishment in the shape of an angular, stylized dragon. His back to the stairs, Callum turned the book, opening the cover, reading the flyleaf aloud. 

“The Book of the Dragonborn, by Prior Emelene Madrine. What’s a ‘Dragonborn’?”, Callum asked Rayla who stood beside him.

“Perhaps you should read it and begin to find out.” Ulf's voice. Behind them.

Rayla yipped, spinning behind the table, crouching, hands trying to conceal herself. Callum merely stared at the ceiling, mortified, resigned to the indignity and humiliation of being caught, literally with his pants down.

“It’s my own fault, you finding Delphine’s old hidden armory”, Ulf remarked casually, stepping forward, turning to perch an armor-clad hip on the table, his back to Rayla, canvas hood thrown back, arms crossed, relaxed, amused. “I should have checked the lock on that panel.”

Callum locked eyes with Ulf. “What happens now?”

“Breakfast?”

“Breakfast?!”, Rayla shrilled. “Ye catch us, stark nekkid, mind, pokin' about in a secret room under an inn, an’ all ye say is ‘Breakfast’?!”

Ulf shrugged. “I did knock. I admit some concern when I remembered about the secret panel, so I let myself in.”

“I thought I latched the door for privacy…”, Callum muttered.

“You did”, Ulf apologised with a sly grin. “I…picked up a few, hmm, unusual skills during my time as an Imperial Legion auxiliary. Including how to pick most locks.”

“Is anyone besides me weirded out by the casual conversation we're having while stark naked in a secret room?!”, Callum demanded.

“Aye!”, Rayla agreed, still crouching behind the table.

Ulf chuckled. “I’ve been places and seen things that make this little scenario look positively wholesome. Get dressed, no need to rush, mind you. Meet me in the common room for breakfast. Three hours or so to Whiterun, weather and local conditions permitting. Oh, and Rayla? Do please close the wardrobe”, advised before going back the way he had come.

Callum and Rayla darted up the stairs once they heard the door to their room close and latch, dressing quickly, avoiding each other’s eyes, Callum fishing his belt pouch of something.

“Ah’m sorry, Callum”, Rayla muttered, embarrassed. “Ah shoulda listened te ye about dressin' before pokin' around.”

Callum chuckled, embracing his beloved. “Lessons learned all ‘round, I think.”

Resting her cheek on Callum's shoulder, Rayla sighed. “We're deep in it when ye are soundin' like th’ reasonable one.”

“Don’t worry”, Callum reassured her. “I’ll probably come up with some overcomplicated plan to achieve something simple, right?”

Rayla nodded.

Callum stroked her soft hair for a moment, then Rayla felt him push and twist something onto the tip of her left horn, jamming it just slightly to make sure it wouldn’t casually slip off. 

Startled, Rayla pulled back, her hand reaching up to touch a half-round band of cool metal, the rounded cabochon of a set, polished gemstone. “Callum? Wha’ hae ye done?”

Callum shrugged, a lop-sided smile, eyes shy. “Umm…it’s a ring. Silver and amethyst I think. Found it in that well with the sword. I didn’t know if it would fit on your finger, so—”

Tears brimmed in the corners of Rayla's eyes. “Oh, ye great foolish human! Ye dinnae know?!”

Callum’s smile faltered. “Oh, umm, no? Uh, how bad have I messed up?”

“It’s nae thet, ye ninny!”, Rayla sniffled, torn between delight and confusion. “If ah walk out there, this ring on me horn, ah'll, we’ll be tellin' th’ whole world we're betrothed!”

“And…that's a bad thing?”, Callum wondered, dreadfully confused, worried he had gone too far, too fast.

Rayla sighed, gently tugging the ring loose, thumbing the threatened tears away. “Nae, ‘tis no a bad thing. But…no th’ now. Nae until we…oh, ah do love ye, Callum. Ah do, truly.” She was all blushes and hesitation. “Until we sort out whether we can go home, an' probably more important, what te do wi' witchy-britches an’ her issues, ah…ah wanna say ‘yes', but…can we wait, jest a bit longer? Please?”

Disappointment clouded Callum's features, more than a bit crestfallen, eyes downcast, jaw set, right thumb flicking at the edge of his fingerless glove. He only did that when he was thinking through a decision.

A sudden pang of anguish shot through Rayla. Had she finally managed to break his heart, unintentionally?

Callum looked up, green eyes gazing into violet, his right hand laid gently to her cheek. “Alright. We'll wait. Until you’re ready. For everything.” The kiss was tender, heartfelt, honest. “I'm…I’m sorry. I rushed, pushed things. Because I’m lost, and I’m scared, and right now you’re the only reason I’m holding it together.”

Rayla smiled gently, relieved, tilting to touch foreheads. “Thet makes two o’ us then…”

“Do you want to keep the ring?”

She smiled, clutching the jewel tight in her grip. “Oh, Ah’m keepin’ th’ ring, trust me on thet!”

*-*-*

The morning meal was thick groat kasha with a splash of milk, sweetened with honey, and topped with a generous spoonful of apple butter seasoned with cinnamon and cloves, and apple cider to drink.

Claudia was uncharacteristically quiet, almost subdued, barely glancing at Callum and Rayla. 

“Uh, Clauds?”, Callum queried. “You okay?”

The sorceress nodded. “Yeah. Too much ale last night, not enough Hot Brown Morning Potion. As in, I haven't had any in a week.”

The door to the inn creaked open, admitting Ulf and Gunhild, both armed and armored, ready for the road. Claudia perked up slightly at the sight of Gunhild, who grinned in return.

Ulf cleared his throat before speaking. “Please accept my apologies for the gruffness last night. And accept these small tokens”, he offered, holding out Callum’s Dwemer sword, now sheathed and attached to a matching tooled swordbelt of dark leather. Hardbound volumes were presented to both Claudia and Rayla. 

Nods of acceptance as the gifts changed hands, Claudia smiling as she opened the cover of her replacement copy of ‘The Lusty Argonian Maid'. Rayla's tome was a slightly battered copy of ‘The Book of the Dragonborn’.

“Yer comin' wi' us?”, Rayla peered up at Gunhild, who brushed a lock of dark curly hair out of her eyes, nodding.

“And miss the biggest celebration in years because I’m stuck in sleepy Riverwood?”, Gunhild smiled impishly. “Not a chance!”

*-*-*

Rayla stared up into the mountains across the water from Riverwood, impressed and a little intimidated by the looming ruin visible in the distance near the peak.

“Bleak Falls Barrow", Ulf noted, seeing where Rayla was looking. “Just one of many ancient Nord ruins. Most are as old or older than the Standing Stones”, he explained as they approached the stone bridge that spanned the White River, the muted rushing tumble of rapids audible in the distance.

The river valley cut dramatic scenery they walked through in a pleasantly manageable downhill grade, sauntering along the occasional switchback in the road, venerable conifers towering above the cobbled pavement.

Callum ambled beside Rayla, and Claudia had resumed some of her more typical animation, chattering to Gunhild, with Ulf more or less leading the way. A shadow flitted across the ground, cast by a hawk soaring high above them.

“So, umm…Ulf", Callum said hesitantly, “back when Rayla and I were first getting to know each other, we had a…a game, I guess you’d call it, where I could ask five questions, and she would give me an honest answer…”

“Alright. Five questions. From all of you”, Ulf agreed.

“Five questions from each of us?”, Claudia inquired.

“I’m counting that as your first question", Ulf grinned. “Five questions, total.”

“Oh thet were brilliant, Claudia”, Rayla quipped. “Nae we have four questions left between the lot of us!”

Claudia wrapped an arm across her stomach as she walked, other hand covering her mouth, chastened, thinking.

“I have another question", Claudia said after a while. “A serious question", she amended, seeing Rayla’s longsuffering expression. “You haven’t been completely honest with us from the moment we met you. You were surprisingly well prepared, and well armed, to deal with the riot in Riften as well as being attacked by a dragon, which I might add, you were very calm about, given the circumstances. You didn’t tell us anything about the Stormcloaks. And Gunhild says you have two wives.”

“You’re going somewhere with this, Clauds?”, Callum asked, eyebrow raised in curiosity, glancing over his shoulder at her.

Claudia nodded affirmative to Callum. “My question is this: How do we know we can trust you?”

Gunhild bumped hips with Claudia as they walked, amused. “Nice!”

Ulf turned, stopping to face the trio, casting an appraising eye over Claudia. “You don’t”, he answered her. Hold in up a hand to forestall Rayla from reacting, he continued. “You contracted me to deliver you to Whiterun, and I vowed to get you there alive. Which I am, even with the loss of the horse and rig. Let’s not discount the times I could have abandoned you in camp, left you to the wolves, or simply handed you over to the Stormcloaks, and did none of that. There are a goodly number of people who would kill Rayla, simply because of who she is, based solely on her rather remarkable appearance, and Callum would be left to bleed out in an alley for his actions in Riften, as well as the enchanted blade he now carries.”

Callum paled, and Rayla turned grim, while Claudia tugged her borrowed cloak tight, feeling a sudden chill.

“Now that those facts are in the open, ask yourself this: Why shouldn’t you trust me?” 

Swallowing hard, Callum stepped forward, extending his hand. “I’m Callum, former Prince of Katolis, a kingdom in the Human Pentarchy, and a mage. Kind of.”

Ulf shook the offered hand.

“Rayla, o’ th’ Silvergrove, daughter o’ Lain and Tiadrin. Former assassin.”

Ulf’s grip was firm.

“Claudia, from Katolis, daughter of…”, she paused. “Daughter of Viren.” A deep, hitching breath. “Daughter of a traitor, and…and a traitor myself. Umm…and a mage.”

Callum glanced at Claudia, concerned. “You okay, Claudia?”

Claudia shook her head. “No. Not really.”

“This is all very touching", came the intruding, condescending voice. “Now, if you hand over the Dragonborn called Rayla, I’ll be on my way.”

The small troupe turned to confront the stranger, who was clad in unique black and blood red armor, a black cloak hanging from their shoulders, black leather mask under a red cowl concealing their features, a broad steel dagger in either hand.

Ulf scoffed. “Dark Brotherhood?”

A nod from the hired killer. “The Listener has decreed she must perish.”

Ulf’s single-edged sword was drawn in a blink, left hand wreathed in flame. Gunhild grunted slightly, unlimbering her twin maces, roll-flipping them in a neat redondo flourish.

“Fight one, face all!”, Gunhild snarled as Claudia drew a glowing rune in the air. Callum inhaled sharply.

Rayla tossed back her hood with a flick of her head, drawing and flipping open her twin swords to their full arm's-reach length, a savage glint in her eye, left foot leading, right leg poised to maneuver or lash out with a sudden kick.

“Let’s dance.”


	15. Admission

Rayla warily eyed the rushing tumult of the rapids as the White River passed on their right, walking in a way that put her as far away from the water as was practical. The road descended out of a switchback to lead to a crossroads dominated by a pair of bridges at right angle to each other that spanned a confluence of the White River with an impressive stream, the intersection dominated by a cluster of buildings a signpost informed them was ‘Honningbrew Meadery', the fresh breeze insufficient to sweep away the lingering scent of sweet honey and furry redolence of fermentation.

The land here was rolling hills giving way to grasslands, with numerous farms and smallholdings surrounding a jutting plateau now supporting a walled city almost as impressive as the capitol of Katolis, with the highest point occupied by an imposing citadel.

Here and there on the landscape were subtle signs of conflict in the recent past, most notably a large mound of piled stones slowly being claimed by the encroaching vegetation. Callum realized with a shock some of the ‘stones' were actually skulls and metal helmets piled up.

Gunhild noticed Callum's discomfort. “A common cairn for Stormcloak dead from the Battle of Whiterun. Better than they deserve, if I’m being honest.”

Ulf led the party along the road past gently creaking windmills, farmers and tenants working the land, tending to crops and animals, nodding at the roving patrol of guardsmen in saffron yellow livery, shields decorated with the scrolling outline of a horse's head in black on a yellow ochre background, one of the guards raising a hand with the respectful salutation: “Hail, Companion!”

Rayla was unsure who was being addressed, Gunhild, or Ulf? Was Ulf also one of these ‘Companions' she'd heard so casually mentioned?

Farms gave way to the inevitable sprawl of habitation that spilled over the walls of the city as they approached, Ulf stopping to speak with a man outside what proved to be the Whiterun Stables.

“Well met, Lukas", Ulf apologized. 

“I should have known this is how it would end", the other man replied, chagrined. “Bandits?”

“Dragon.”

“Damn!”, Lukas grinned. “You just cost me another hundred septims! I was sure it would be bandits!”

“Add it to my reckoning”, Ulf nodded.

“And my night at the Bannered Mare?”, Lukas wheedled good-naturedly.

“Done.”

“I certainly have been", Lukas nodded.

Ulf clapped the man on the shoulder, leading the party into the outerworks of the city's defenses. 

Rayla observed this city was far older than it appeared, and had withstood repeated siege and assault, noting fallen sections of wall filled with palisade timbers, some of them quite new, where in other places the impacts of siege weapon ammunition was bright and unweathered.

Callum was impressed by the torsion skein powered catapults and immense bowed ballistae that dominated the approach to the city from well-placed redoubts.

Ulf stopped for a second greeting, this time in an encampment of hide tents, peopled by a species that left Callum and Claudia gaping in wonder, and Rayla smiling in slight superiority.

“What are they?”, Claudia stage-whispered to Callum, staring at the rather elegant creatures.

“Those are Khajiit", Rayla smirked. “I met one who called himself M'aiq the other day outside Ivarstead.”

The trio watched as Ulf and Gunhild bartered, trading the armor and weapons the Dark Brotherhood assassin no longer needed.

The group was approaching the sharp right-hand turn to the drawbridge, with what had once been an archers hoarding to their left, now home to a motley collection of trader's and merchants, when an athletic man with a thin beard jogged up to them. “I’m glad I caught you!”, he said to Claudia, handing her a sealed vellum packet from his leather dispatch bag draped over his russet jerkin. “A message for you. Your eyes only!”

“Oooo, gettin' love letters, are we?”, Rayla cooed teasingly as Claudia opened the missive.

Claudia scanned the lines on the page, eyes widening, then going soft with the hint of unbidden tears.

‘Dearest C,

I swore to myself if I survived the night in Riften, I’d let you know how I feel about you.  
You’re scary, and haughty, and more than a bit snobbish. But you’re also cool, and funny, and have a good heart under all the scary stuff.  
If you’re not scared off by a girl saying she wants to have a relationship with you, and if you’re willing to give us a chance, I’ll be staying at the Bannered Mare in Whiterun until the celebration is over.

S.’

Ulf took a moment to pass a few septims and half of a loaf of bread and some sausage to the courier who then departed, as Claudia thrust the letter at Callum, slightly frantic. “What do I do?!”, she demanded.

Callum blinked. “Uh, why are you asking me?”

“Because you have a girlfriend!”

It was Rayla’s turn to blink.

Gunhild plucked the letter out of Claudia's hand, perusing it. 

“Huh", was Gunhild’s appraisal a moment later. 

“That’s not very helpful", Claudia sighed, frustrated.

“I’m just wondering what my chances are then, Silver-lock”, Gunhild grinned at Claudia.

Rayla covered her face with her right hand. “Oh fer Xadia's sake…”, she groaned.

“Did…did you just proposition me?”, Claudia asked Gunhild, who handed Claudia back her letter.

Gunhild, unashamed, nodded. “One thing about living in Skyrim”, she said, “people know that life can be brutal and short, so they tend not to waste time with long courtships. They declare their interest openly, without pretense.”

“But…but I—I’m a girl…", Claudia protested feebly.

“I know", Gunhild smiled, coy and seductive. “I like girls. A lot.”

Callum cleared his throat. “Clauds—That is, Claudia", he corrected himself when she glared at him, “She, we, grew up in the court of Katolis. There wasn’t a whole lot of time to, uhh, explore that whole…thing.”

“Wha' Callum is tryin' te say is thet yer chasin' unicorn-bait. An' his former crush", Rayla explained with a teasing grin.

Claudia’s cheeks flamed crimson. “Oh, Primals, I cannot deal with this, not without copious amounts of Hot Brown Morning Po—.“ She stopped in mid-sentence, nose sniffing, a familiar pungent scent riveting her attention.

“Hot. Brown. Morning. Potion!”, she grinned, elated, thoroughly distracted, darting away to the left, seeking the source of the smell.

“She do that often?”, Ulf inquired, eyebrow raised, watching Claudia depart.

Rayla and Callum nodded in unison, resignedly, shoulders slumped. “Yep”, Callum confirmed.

Claudia bustled along the stalls until she found the source of the enticing, achingly-familiar aroma. “Hot Brown Morning Potion!”, she exclaimed to the swarthy man cloaked in scarlet robes and a grey head-wrap, sitting on the stone floor in front of a broad copper pot on a brick stand, filled with fine sand, just deeper than Claudia could bury her hand in to the wrist, fingers extended to touch the bottom. A charcoal fire flickered and glowed from beneath the pot in a brazier, heating the sand.

“I’m afraid you're mistaken, young lady", the Redguard explained gently. “This is kahve, from my homeland Hammerfell, in the Taneth style.”

“I’m past caring where it’s from, please give me some!”, Claudia implored.

Smiling indulgence, the Redguard poured a measure of water into a small deep ladle of steel, adding a precise amount of finely ground dark brown powder to the liquid, stirring briefly, adding a flick of pale golden crystals, and then snuggling the long-handled pot almost to the rim in the heated sand.

Claudia watched, fascinated, as the liquid came rapidly to a boil, creating a thin foam that exuded the scent she recognized instantly.

The Redguard slipped the pot out of the sand, deftly pouring the contents into a small terra-cotta cup that was exactly the size needed to contain the hot beverage, one of many stacked mouth down beside him, and handed it to Claudia.

“Enjoy!”

Claudia blew on the hot brew for a moment, then sipped.

Her moan of sheer, ecstatic bliss mildly alarmed everyone in her party except Callum.

Claudia smiled happily, rejoining the group. 

Ulf flipped the vendor a handful of septims, the vendor deftly plucking the coins from mid-air. “Can we go now?”

Claudia nodded. “I no longer have the desire to murder the world.”

“Better than you have tried”, Ulf deadpanned, cryptically, leading them over the drawbridge to the main gates of the city, nodding to the guards on duty outside, knocking, then opening the man-sized door in the right-hand leaf of the twinned massive wooden valve.

“Welcome. To Whiterun.”

The contrast between Riften and Whiterun couldn’t have been more pronounced.

Where Riften brooded, Whiterun bustled. Riften skulked, Whiterun strode. Riften guards bullied, Whiterun guards boasted. Riften insinuated. Whiterun invited.

A broad avenue ran almost straight up a slight grade, with streets branching off into neighborhoods of stone-walled houses, most with thatch roofs, the wealthier buildings sporting roofs of wood shingle or yellowish tile. Just over a small stone bridge, a guard barracks stood to the left, and a smithy called ‘Warmaidens' to the right, the artisan busy at work in the open air forge, shaping and straightening a curved scythe blade. Taking a brief rest while quenching the heated metal, she looked up, calling a cheerful greeting to Ulf.

“Adrienne Avenici", Ulf informed his three clients. “One of the best smiths in Skyrim, perhaps second only to Eorland Grey-Mane. Her father is advisor to Jarl Balgruff, the ruler of Whiterun Hold.”

Ulf stopped in the street, next to the steps that led up to the door of a well-kept two-story house graced with a tower and a neatly tended garden.

“This is it, end of the road", Ulf nodded. “Safe and sound, in Whiterun, as promised.”

Callum looked around the bustling community, taking in the cosmopolitan population, the directed chaos. “Well, now we're here, how do we find someone?”

Gunhild perched on the right-hand stone post. “Who is it you're looking for?”

“Th' Thane o' Riften", Rayla volunteered. “He’s supposed te be here. His huscarl Iona sent us seekin' ‘im.”

Gunhild covered her mouth with one hand, concealing her impish smile.

“Try the Bannered Mare”, Ulf suggested, pointing up the street. “It’s just the other side of the main well, far end of the street.

Claudia smiled. “That’s a bit of luck. That’s where Sheila said she’d be staying.”

Gunhild, hands on either side of her hips, gripping the capstone of the post she sat upon, glanced beguilingly at Claudia. “Can we discuss your answer to my question if I see you as far as the Mare? I have to head that way to get to Jorrvaskr.”

Claudia blushed. “Umm…I guess?”

The dark-haired young woman nodded, stood, and linked arms with Claudia. “Good enough! Let’s go see the city!”

Callum and Rayla couldn’t help but laugh a little bit at Claudia's bewildered expression.

Signs of preparation for a major celebration were everywhere in the city, with people climbing ladders to hang garlands of white flowers from eaves, doorways, and wooden arches that spanned the streets. Small sheaves of wheat were hung on either side of entry doors, though not all houses or businesses were so decorated. Laundry was being pulled from lines and railings, the streets and flagstone paths being swept by older children or elders, ashes and clinkers from hearths and fireplaces being swept out and added to compost piles prior to being spread on fields or gardens.

The Bannered Mare stood on a small rise, dominating the merchant square around the roofed well with it's sheer size and decorative flourishes, stone steps with carved balustrades leading up to stout double wooden doors reinforced with bronze hinge-bands allowed to go gracefully green with tasteful verdigris.

“Here we are!”, Gunhild announced. “The Bannered Mare! Best inn and tavern in Whiterun!” She turned to Claudia. “So? Your answer?”

Callum and Rayla almost tried to pretend they were not paying attention.

“Umm", Claudia hesitated, flustered, very much out of her depth. “Uh, Gunhild…I—I don't know…This is…I’m—we're, that is, Callum, Rayla, and I…we're not from here, and…trying to find a way home? Maybe? And you…I’ve never—”

Gunhild held both of Claudia’s hands gently in her own, bright blue eyes gazing into Claudia's green. “You’ll find an answer, Silver-lock, one way or the other. And while you do, I’d like to be close to you. For as long as you’re here, or as long as you’ll have me.” She kissed Claudia's knuckles. “Think about it?”

Claudia nodded, watching as Gunhild climbed the steps that led higher into the city.

“Well thet were jest precious", Rayla smirked. “She’s known ye fer all o' two days an' she's smitten wi' ye!”

“Rayla?”

“Yes, Claudia?”

“Do please shut up.”

Callum shook his head, leading Rayla and Claudia to the doors of the inn, opening them and stepping into the cooler shadows.

“Come in, come in", the auburn-haired woman behind the bar called in the Nord accent they were growing accustomed to. “Enjoy some hot food before we douse the fires in preparation for the celebration tomorrow! Have a seat, someone will be right with you!”

A low table bracketed by benches was unoccupied, past the bar and just beyond the fire pit. 

Callum removed his sword belt, wrapping it around the scabbarded weapon, and slid into place closest to the wall, knowing Rayla disliked being confined, Claudia sitting across from them. Moments later, an attractive dark-skinned Redguard woman approached the table.

“Here for the celebration? We’ve got hot food and cold drinks, and one room left, so speak up quickly if you need lodgings, otherwise you sleep on the floor in the common room.”

Callum spoke for all of them. “Uh…three ciders, colcannon and hardboiled eggs if you have them? Oh and we'll take the room.”

The woman nodded, and Rayla snickered. “So much fer cuddlin' tonight, wha' wi' three in th' bed.”

Callum slumped slightly, looking at the ceiling. “Sun and stars, your are just in a mood ever since that assassin—”

“Dropped their weapons and ran away?”, Claudia teased, eager to get some payback in.

Rayla scowled. “Ah were lookin' te vent some o' me frustrations when they up an' buggered off!”

“Naughty Callum!”, Claudia playfully chided. “Leaving your beloved unsatisfied…”

Callum suddenly found the ceiling intensely interesting, trying to ignore his overwarm ears.

“Oh, ah would' nae say he left me unsatisfied", Rayla boasted quietly. “Ah jest wish he’d left me wi' enough oomph te return th' favor.”

“Oh you two are horrible!”, Claudia giggled.

“Boo!”, Sheila announced herself, flipping back the hood of her cloak and suddenly appearing, provoking a small shriek of outrage from Claudia. “Here", she said, pushing a wrapped package towards the sorceress, sliding onto the bench beside Claudia. “I’ve been waiting for you for two days.”

Callum blinked. “How…?”

The ginger-haired former thief giggled. “How did I get to Whiterun ahead of you? You want the long version or short?”

“Last we saw o' ye, ‘twas headin' out th' door in Riften te hold off looters", Rayla observed.

The scrape-thud of a chair being dropped into place at the head of the table. “Yes, do tell us all about the events in Riften", Ulf commented.

“Stars and sky!”, Rayla yipped, caught off guard. “Hae does someone yer size move so quietly?!”

A wry smile. “Lots of practice. I move even more quietly once I get out of harness.”

“Your usual, Thane Gowan?”, the Redguard woman asked as she set three tankards of cider on the table.

Ulf nodded. “Thank you, Saadia.”

“My pleasure", Saadia smiled coyly in return.

“Wait, wait, wait!”, Rayla demanded, waving her hands, trying to come to grips with the situation. “Ye jest called our former carriage driver ‘Thane Gowan'. De ye mind explainin' thet?”

“That’s because he is Thane Gowan of Whiterun", Saadia said calmly.

“And Thane of Riften", Sheila volunteered.

Callum put the fingertips of his left hand to his temple, grimacing, where a wonderful headache was building. “Hold on”, he pleaded. “You’re the Thane of Riften. And Thane of Whiterun. And our carriage driver, right?”

The big man nodded. 

“Would you mind telling us your real name?", Claudia asked, petulant.

“My name is Gowan Ulfberct, called ‘Ulf' by my friends. And yes, I’m Thane of both Riften and Whiterun.”

“Wha’ de yer enemies call ye?”, Rayla inquired.

Saadia returned with foaming tankards for Ulf and Sheila, and Ulf waited until she had departed before replying.

“Very little before they die.”


	16. Affirmation

Ambient good-natured chaos inherent to a cheerful tavern built as more inhabitants of Whiterun sought the company of others with the day fading into afternoon, Saadia and the other serving wench, Olfina, kept busy running from kitchen to bar to patron.

Ulf leaned back in his seat, drawing a sip from his tankard. “I think it’s time you explained what the situation was in Riften when you departed, Sheila.”

The lithe redhead took a meditative sip from her own drink before answering.

“I think you’d refer to it as ‘a bloody shambles’”, Sheila began. “Things went south in a hurry after Rayla took out Brynjolf when Callum got beat up after shoving one of the Thieves Guild into Balimund's forge when they tried to shake him down again. Laila named Callum and Rayla heroes of the city the next day, and that’s when the Thieves Guild went to Maven looking for the okay to take revenge, and that’s how the riots and attempt on Laila’s life started.”

Ulf shot an appraising look at the young couple. “Impressive. In town less than a week and you manage to trigger a revolution.”

Callum chuckled nervously and Rayla look embarrassed.

“So anyway, me, Iona, and Mjoll held the bridge to Honeyside, which is still standing, Iona needs a new shield, Mjoll is the new bodyguard for Jarl Laila, who’s steward is in hiding somewhere with Laila's old bodyguard, Mistveil Keep is locked up tight as a drum, Maven Blackbriar is holed up on one of her estates, I have a huge crush on Claudia, and what’s left of the Thieves Guild is hiding out in the Ratway.”

Finished her report, Sheila took another sip of her drink.

Ulf sat quietly, stroking his beard in contemplation as he considered what he had just been told.

“You three are definitely worth keeping an eye on”, Ulf eventually commented.

Rayla raised a hand “Jest checkin', but hae many questions d’ we have left?”

Ulf smiled, indulgent. “Three.”

“Right. Ah’m usin’ one”, Rayla nodded, decisive. “Hae di’ ye come te be waitin' fer us at th' Riften Stables?”

“Iona.”

“Thet’s nae much o’ an answer!”, Rayla complained.

Ulf plucked a hard-boiled egg from the bowl, cracked and peeled the shell, sprinkled a pinch of salt on the egg, and ate it in two bites.

“Iona sent me a message via the Courier, with information supplied by Sheila”, Ulf explained. “Given your…unusual…arrival, I thought it a good idea to personally assess the situation before taking action.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t do anything drastic, Ulf", Sheila nodded. “Otherwise, I couldn’t ask Claudia out.”

Ulf sighed, amused. “And that's your priority. Not the safety of Skyrim?”

“Why fight for something I don’t have a stake in?”, Sheila countered with a shrug.

“Excuse me", Claudia interjected. “Um, why me? Don’t I get a say in this?”

“Why?”, Sheila blinked. “Because you’re pretty, and cool, and confident, and fascinating…”

Claudia held up a hand to beg interruption. “I…um…wow. Thank you. I guess. I'm… more than little overwhelmed right now, so can I think about it?”

Sheila nodded. “Okay!”

“It I may suggest", Ulf apologized, “I think the Bannered Mare may not be the best venue to continue our conversations. How does supper at my home sound? And since Claudia was so interested, she can meet my ladies.”

Callum looked around the table, seeking input by eye contact. Rayla nodded, as did Claudia. “Sounds fun”, he agreed.

Decision made, Ulf pushed back from the table, stood and walked to the bar where he collected and paid for four bottles of wine, gripping the necks in his fingers, two bottles to a hand. “Come on, you motley crew, supper’s not going to make itself!”

Sheila darted ahead to open the door, waiting until Claudia passed the threshold, then fell into step beside her. Claudia felt a hesitant, inquisitive touch as Sheila sought to surreptitiously hold her hand as they walked back along the street in the direction of the main gate. Perhaps impulsively, unsure of how to respond, Claudia took Sheila's hand, their fingers interlacing, Claudia feeling an unfamiliar burst of pleasure when she saw the smile light up Sheila’s face.

Ulf led the party back to the turreted house near the gate, mounting steps and toeing the door open, swinging it wide, inviting the youths into a joyous clamor.

*-*-*

A multitude of voices. Cheering, greeting, demanding.

“Darling, welcome home!”

“Lover, come into my arms!”

“Poppa!!”

“Welcome back, Gowan.”

A bright orange streak of a fox darting about feet, dodging, curling, capering, yap-yowling in open-mouthed excitement, the baying of a shaggy blue-eyed grey and white wolf-like dog.

The bemused, indulgently tolerant golden-eyed stare of a massive tuft-eared, plume-tailed fluffy ginger tom from the broad mantle above the fireplace with it’s glowing coals.

Hugs, embraces, smiles, affectionate kisses of greeting as Ulf made his way deeper into the dwelling, leading Callum, Rayla, and Claudia into his home, slightly crowded with carved chairs and tables, a mannequin supporting Whiterun guard armor, racks containing collected weapons, several filled bookcases, stairs to a loft above, cooking area with doors to another room opposite. Double doors occupied the wall to the right, no doubt opening into the turret.

“Peace! Peace!”, Ulf pleaded, grinning. “We have guests and therefore introductions all ‘round to be made! Peace!” 

When the tumult quieted, Ulf began.

“Welcome to our home. My family”, he waved his left hand, indicating individuals as he spoke their names. 

“Aela, my lady-wife, and member of the Companions.” A mane of loose long red hair, pale blue eyes, face slashed by three dark green stripes from right brow to left jaw.

“Sofia, and again, my lady-wife." Lustrous straight black hair caught in a loose ponytail, bright, mischievous blue eyes, red lips in a sarcastic smirk, pale porcelain skin.

“Serana Volkihar, of the Dawnguard." Shoulder length black hair, bangs braided and tied back, framing a pale face with unusual, piercing, almost luminous red eyes.

“Lydia, my Huscarl and Steward of Breezehome." Dark brunette, intent brown eyes, nodding greeting, appraising them.

“Lucia, Sofie, and Babette, my daughters." Two girls, one dirty blonde, one auburn, not that much younger than Callum, Rayla, and Claudia. The last perhaps a dozen years old if that, eyes dark with knowledge she shouldn’t have.

“And finally, Skaoling, the dog, Damfox, the manic blur, and upon the mantle where he knows he doesn’t fit, yet again, Balgruff the Even Greater, First of His Name, Blessed by the Nine. He's Lydia's responsibility.”

Turning to face his guests, Ulf introduced them. “Family, I’ll have you greet Callum, Rayla of Silver-Grove, and Claudia Silver-lock. They are travelers, lost and far from home.” 

Callum felt a wave of homey nostalgia, wistfulness for a family, a catch in his throat, half-smiling, slipping an arm around Rayla’s waist, she tilting her head to rest on Callum's shoulder. 

A shift in stance moved Claudia slightly closer to Sheila, who put her arm around Claudia’s shoulders.

“Be welcome, travelers, and leave some of the joy you bring”, Aela smiled, waving them in. 

Supper was a crowded, raucous, lively affair, with Ulf answering questions from his wives about his excursion, with details filled in by Callum or Rayla. Food was plentiful, including a smoke-cured ham retrieved from the hearth flue by Ulf, and drink flowed with conviviality. Lucia and Sofie thrilled when they found out Callum could draw, insisting he produce sketches of them while at the table, Callum blushing fiercely when Sofia suggested she pose nude to be immortalized by a painting. 

Babette had spent a significant portion of the meal distractedly picking at her food, glancing with frequent open curiosity at Rayla, until Rayla had to ask if she'd gotten something smeared on her face. Babette shook her head, saying she’d never seen an elf with horns before, and that Rayla was the prettiest person in the room. Sofia playfully objected, asking Ulf what he thought.

Ulf pointed out he had a fondness for waking up alive in the morning, drawing laughter from everyone.

Gunhild arrived with two more bottles of wine, bringing a cheer from Sofia, in the company of an elegant, slender blonde with emerald green eyes and a presence that could be described as ethereal or other-worldly, introduced as Eirenna, who promptly slid behind Serana and draped her arms intimately over the Dawnguard's shoulders, Serana greeting her with a lingering, nibbling kiss.

Claudia sat sandwiched between Sheila and Gunhild, bewildered as the two young women both paid her attention and compliments, each vying gently for her affection, increasing her confusion.

Cheers erupted when Lydia produced a platter of assorted fruit filled pastries, with Rayla claiming two snowberry ones for herself. 

Questions invariably arose as to sleeping arrangements for the night, Ulf objecting when it was explained that the trio of newcomers had lodgings at the Bannered Mare, offering Callum and Rayla run of Breezehome for the night, and perhaps longer. Sheila was adamant that she laid claim to Claudia first, and that she had already paid for a room for several days, so Claudia should share her room for the night. Gunhild conceded with a grin, laying claim to Claudia for the night of the celebration itself.

“But what about you, Ulf? We don’t want to displace your family”, Callum protested.

Aela threw back her head and laughed. “Lad, Gowan Ulfberct is one of the wealthiest men in the city! We own several properties and homes, two within the walls of Whiterun itself! No need to concern yourself, please”, she grinned.

Ulf extricated himself from the embrace of his ladies, rose, and took his guests on a brief bottom-to-top tour of Breezehome, starting with the deep wooden bathing tub and sauna in the basement, heated by his forge, the main floor with it’s small kitchen, and the armory in the turret that left them astounded at the collection of weaponry, and finally, Lydia’s quarters and the master bedroom, which would be Callum and Rayla's for the night.

Claudia begged a moment for herself, slipping out the door into the cooler evening air, light from the two moons limning the cobbled street in silver radiance. Breezehome was not the only house enjoying a rollicking meal.

The door creaked closed behind Claudia, a presence hovering nearby. 

Claudia didn’t turn, but spoke over her shoulder. “Please, I just need a few moments to myself! Let me get my thoughts straight—“

“Walk with me”, Serana's cool, detached tone in the night.

Claudia growled her frustration. “Are you going to proclaim your love for me too?”

A wry chuckle. “Hardly. Between Gowan, Ulf to you, and Eirenna, my romantic needs are quite satisfied, thank you.”

“What do you want?”

“Conversation. Nothing more", Serana motioned to follow her to Claudia, her regal manner suggesting someone used to being obeyed.

A few moments later saw them leaning on the parapet of the wall of the city, looking out into the surrounding farms.

“It was quite the battle", Serana nodded. “Thousands of men, fighting, screaming. Dying. Stormcloaks against Whiterun guard and one column of Imperial legionaries. And Gowan, Ulf, in the thick of it, Companions roaring and raging, slaughtering. Aela was a terror, her bow claiming a life with every draw. It was…”

“Legendary?”, Claudia whispered.

“Terrible. It was terrible. Horrifying”, Serana corrected. “I’ve seen Gowan, Ulf, fight, kill. Until that day, I'd never seen him enraged. When he unleashed the dragon, Durnehviir…”

“What?!”

“Gowan commanded the defense of Whiterun that day. The Stormcloaks never even reached the city gates”, Serana nodded in the moonlight.

“Ulf…commanded, controlled, a dragon?!”

Serana nodded. “My Gowan, our Gowan, as I share him with his wives, is far, far more than you might know. He's a very good friend, and an ally without peer.”

Serana paused, staring out at the fields. 

“In my life, I’ve seen much death", she finally continued. “So understand I do not say this lightly. Do not make Ulf an enemy.”

Claudia felt a premonitory chill as Serana’s glowing vermilion gaze settled on her.

“You’re not human…”, Claudia whimpered.

“No", Serana smiled. “Like you, my father made me a monster. So, you, Claudia, are not unlike a younger sister to me.”

“What are you…?”

“We’re not so different, you and I. We both feed on life to fuel our power, our abilities, our magic”, Serana explained. “I’m older, far older than you can conceive of, but your taint is much deeper, isn’t it?”

Claudia nodded.

“Oh, he was a bastard, wasn’t he?” Red eyes filled Claudia's vision. “The lies? The manipulation? Deceit on deceit, and all in a cause so, so noble, so…justified, wasn’t it?”

“How…how do you know?” Claudia had never felt so alone, so exposed.

The night and reality crashed back into existence.

“Because my father was the same.”

A shuddering breath from Claudia. 

“I’m sorry if I scared you", Serana apologized.

Claudia shook her head. “It's…it's okay. I’m okay.”

“What I’m saying is, you don’t have to be the monster he made you", Serana sympathized. “You’re...still young. Young enough to make mistakes you can learn from. But they would be your mistakes. Your life.”

“Are we friends?” Claudia was hesitant.

Serana nodded. “If you want to be.”

“I…think I’d like that”, Claudia agreed.

Serana chuckled. “We'd better go back before Sheila and Gunhild come to blows.”

“Oh…!”, Claudia fumed. “That is such a disaster! I don’t know what to do! I…argh!”

Serana laughed. “Why not…give it a try?”

“You’re not helping!”


	17. Adoration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup. Adult content warning. Nudity and F/F sexual situation.

Serana and Claudia opened the door of Breezehome and stepped into a maelstrom of daughter’s being harried to pack for and move for the night, Sofie insisting that Damfox was too tired to walk and therefore had to be carried, Skaoling vocally protesting against leaving his warm bed by the hearth, Aela and Sofia divvying up supper remains to be taken for cold breakfast because the household fires had all been doused prior to the celebration on the morrow, and Lydia and Ulf directing the chaos into useful motion.

Callum had retreated to lean against a narrow table against the wall near the doors to the turret armory, doing his best to contribute by staying out of the way, Rayla next to him, arms crossed, engaged in argument with Babette who was insisting that Rayla simply had to wear a proper dress to attend the social dances planned for the next evening.

“Ah already told ye, ah don' dance, an' ah don' wear fancy dresses", Rayla insisted, shaking her head.

Babette refused to accept Rayla's position. “This is simply the event of the season, to see and be seen, and your best opportunity to show the rest of the harpies in this village your claim on Callum is one that will not be challenged.”

“Why d' ah feel like ah’m in debate wi' Callum's maiden great aunt, keeper o' th' family secrets?”, Rayla demanded, exasperated.

Jet-haired Sofia stuck her head around the partition between the kitchen and the common room. “That’s because Babette is over three hundred years old. Try convincing her she has to go to bed sometime!”, she grinned.

“There is nae way this wee slip is three centuries old!”, Rayla scoffed.

“I am too!”, Babette barked. “Stop treating me like a child!”

Ulf intervened. “Babette, we do not yell at guests. Rayla, there is a very complicated tale about Babette I promise we will tell you, but not right now. Skaoling, stop howling.”

Callum hid his smile behind a hand. “I don’t know, Rayla. I think I’d like to see you in a dress.”

“Ah can’t move in a dress! Me legs get all tangled up if ah try te run!”

“Ladies don’t run", Babette counciled.

“Besides, it’s too late te try an’ buy a dress! A proper dress takes weeks te work up!”, Rayla countered smugly.

“You can wear one of my spare chemises", Lucia volunteered. “We’re about the same size in the bust.”

“And I have some skirts and overgowns I looted and never wore”, Sofia offered with a bright smile.

Callum chuckled. “Time to surrender to the inevitable, Rayla.”

“Fiiiiine!”, Rayla grumbled, rolling her eyes.

Eventually, order prevailed, and Ulf and his remarkable family departed for other quarters, bidding a heartfelt goodnight to Callum and Rayla, Claudia being escorted back to the Bannered Mare, Sheila to her right, Gunhild to her left. Serana and Eirenna linking arms, sharing gentle, intimate kisses as they stepped out into the night.

Lydia let out a comfortable sigh, closed and locked the door, dousing lanterns and snuffing candles throughout the house, shutting the doors to the girls room, and finally picking up a goblet of spiced, mulled wine and her cat, turning to climb the stairs to her room in the loft.

“Help yourselves to some mead or cider if you like. The hearth and the oven hold heat for hours, so we'll be warm enough tonight. If you find you’ve sullied the sheets, there’s fresh ones in the cupboard closest to the bedroom doors, just past the safe. And with that, goodnight", Lydia informed them.

The stairs creaked faintly under Lydia's steps as she ascended, the only illumination in the ground floor common room coming from a remarkable insect glowing green in a large clear glass jar on a low shelf.

Rayla sighed in the warm darkness.

“You alright?”, Callum inquired gently.

A nod, more sensed than seen. “Aye. Stars and sky, where do they find th' energy te keep up wi' it all?” Good humor and wonder in her soft reply.

“Families”, Callum nodded in turn. “Good ones, caring ones, seem like they can run on their own forever.” 

A moment of comfortable, contemplative silence. 

“Bed?”, Callum asked.

“Bed!”, Rayla agreed.

Upstairs, double doors closed for relative privacy, as Lydia was still awake, sitting in an arm chair, reading and sipping her mulled wine, Balgruff the Even Greater draped over her lap, purring and kneading the air in feline contentment, golden eyes closed in a self-satisfied bewhiskered smile, Callum and Rayla undressed by the light of a single low candle set in three fingers of water in a wide-mouthed vase of red glass, slipping nude between the sheets, settling into the down mattress laid on the slats of the wide bed, beneath the pleasant weight of quilts and duvets.

“Foomp!”, Rayla chuckled quietly as her head met the pillow, then moving to rest her head on Callum’s arm, feeling him cup her left breast, his thumb stroking her nipple in gentle, intimate familiarity, sending an enjoyable thrill through her body, wriggling back to feel his hips and thighs press against her bottom, gasping quietly when he kissed her exposed ear, legs tangling comfortably.

“Happy?”, Callum asked softly.

Rayla nodded, fingers of her right hand tracing spirals on the soft cloth of the pillowcase. “Even wi' all thet's been goin' on, dragons attackin’ folk, th' Stormcloak bullies, an' us bein' so far from home, even if we cannae e'er go back, aye, ah’m happy. Isn’t thet daft?”

Callum snuggled closer, held her a bit tighter, but pleasantly. “You said I was your home the other night. You’re mine.”

“Ah love ye, Callum.”

“And I you, Rayla.”

Rayla sighed and relaxed, closing her eyes.

*-*-*

After a breath-stealing, lingering kiss from Gunhild as they parted company at the carved doors of the inn, Claudia sat on the side of the bed in the loft bedroom of the Bannered Mare that overlooked the common room. Sheila had drawn the shutters closed for privacy, but adjusted the slatted louvers to admit the dull orange glow from the slowly dying embers of the hearth pit below.

The air in the room was warm and close. Intimate. A single goathorn oil lamp fluttered golden light on a narrow table opposite the shutters.

Sheila turned, releasing the clasp of her precious cloak, hanging it on a peg after securing the doors to the room, sitting beside Claudia.

Claudia cleared her throat, nervous and shy, fidgety, trying not to watch as Sheila slid her thigh-high soft leather boots off slender pale legs.

“Umm…I—I've never…that is, I haven't…with anyone”, Claudia confessed. “And before Gunhild…I…I never kissed anyone! Not seriously, like I meant it!"

Sheila's fingers on Claudia's jaw gently turned her face, lips meeting in a trembling, hesitant kiss that became a teasing, nibbling invitation to intimacy.

Slightly breathless, Sheila leaned back, eyes shining, cheeks flushed. “Wow. Now I get why Gunhild kissed you goodnight!”

“Oh”, Claudia giggled, shoulders hunching slightly, embarrassed. “Umm, was I…?”

“My first kiss?”, Sheila chuckled. “Yup. And it was worth waiting for!”

Claudia felt heat bloom in her cheeks, her heart racing. “I have no idea what I’m doing, what I should do!”

“What do you want to do?”

“That’s just it! I don't know!”, Claudia confessed. “At home, I did as I was told, listened to Father, followed his instructions! Even when…even when…” A note of panic crept into Claudia’s voice.

Sheila embraced Claudia, consoling, not seducing, stroking Claudia's hair, calming her. “It's okay, it’s okay, you’re safe here…” 

Claudia clung to Sheila, confused, frightened. Aroused? “I…I…”

“You what?”

“I don’t know. But I want…I want to…oh, why is this so hard?! Why can’t I just cast a spell and be done?!”, Claudia demanded.

Sheila stared honestly into Claudia's eyes. “That’s not how it works. Magic doesn’t fix things. It’s a tool, like a hammer or a saw. You still have to do the work.”

Claudia nodded. Sighed.

“We…don’t have to do anything”, Sheila offered. “We can go to bed and just sleep. Tomorrow is going to be very busy.” 

Claudia stared at the woven rug on the floor. Shook her head. “I…when I look at you, when I think about you, my insides do a funny little flip, and I’m happy. And I…I want more of it. But then I met Gunhild, and she's…all black metal, and steel, fire and fury, and I want her to…and when she kisses, it's… you’re a meadow in the spring, and she’s a thunderstorm, and I want it all! Is that wrong? Am I being greedy?”

Sheila sat for a moment, quiet.

“Yes. Yes, you’re greedy”, Sheila nodded, ginger hair bobbing. “But you’re greedy because you didn’t know, and now you can be yourself! And I’m greedy too, because if I have to share you, I will, because I saw you first!”

“Didn’t you have a crush on, what was his name, Hank?”

“Years ago, in different worlds, because he was pretty, and because I didn’t know I was allowed to want to be with a girl!”

Claudia grabbed a fistful of pale lavender tunic, pulling Sheila into a desperate, demanding, hungry kiss.

“I have no idea what I’m doing. But I don’t care!”, she gasped when they parted. 

“Me either!”, Sheila panted.

“Too hot in here…”, Claudia pointed out.

Fingers fumbled and pulled at laces, hands tugged at clothing until it was heaped on the floor, discarded, baring skin to the warm air. 

“No, leave the stockings on”, Sheila urged, breathless. “God, you’re so sexy like that!”

Claudia shivered, vulnerable, excited, scared, aroused.

Hands on skin, touching, exploring, caressing, gently squeezing, gasps of delight, moans. Sheila’s lips trailing kisses up Claudia’s belly, reverence paid to soft breasts, gentle nips on an exposed throat, Claudia groaning, throwing Sheila over on the bed, straddling her hips, squeezing Sheila's breasts together, tugging, pinching her nipples until Sheila gasped, pulling Claudia down into an open-mouthed, tongue teasing kiss.

Fingers tangled in each other’s hair, eyes intent on each other, hips bucking and grinding, thighs flexing, nethers slick, sensitive, aching. 

“More!”, Claudia demanded.

Sheila whimpered. “So close! So close! Please…!”

“What?”

“Want you!”, Sheila gasped. “In me!”

Clumsy, eager, fingers sought, trembled, probed, slid deep, bringing a sharp cry and shuddering, bucking, whimpering, tearful release to Sheila, head thrashing on the pillow, ginger hair tangling.

Rearing up on her knees, seeking her own satisfaction, Claudia teased her own body to the point of climax, stifling her scream of joy behind her other hand, a slick rush of pleasure flooding her, drowning her, tossing her on the shore of Sheila's panting torso.

They lay there, tangled, spent, sated, sweat cooling, Claudia barely aware that Sheila was stroking her long hair.

“Stars and sky", Claudia whispered, eyes glazed with pleasure. “That was—”

“Amazing!”, Sheila giggled, riding the post-coital bliss.

“Worth waiting for.” A statement, not a question.

Emphatic nod of agreement from Sheila. “Oh, yeah!” Trembling, belly rippling. “Oof!”

“You alright?”, concern in Claudia's voice.

“Oh yeah…”, Sheila cooed. “Just a little, uhh!, aftershock…woo…endorphin rushes are fun!”, she giggled.

“Endor-what?”

“Brain chemicals that make you feel good", Sheila explained sleepily.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about…”, Claudia confessed, snuggling closer, drowsy.

*-*-*

Rayla couldn’t move.

She opened her eyes, the soft heavy weight that was definitely not Callum, who was sprawled beside her on his back, arm pinned under her head. Weight that vibrated her hips and spine with a steady low, contented rumble, with alternating kneading sensations transmitted through the layers of quilts.

Rayla peered over the pale curve of her shoulder to see sleepy, half-closed slitted golden eyes staring at her in inscrutable contemplation.

Seeking Rayla was awake, Balgruff the Even Greater yawned wide, ivory fangs as long as the last joint of her finger flashing in the dim light of morning, raspy pink tongue licking his chops.

“Maow", Balgruff said, standing, stretching in the boneless grace only cats possess, and ramming his head affectionately into Rayla's face.


	18. Attestation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What ho! Could this be the beginning of a Claudia redemption arc?
> 
> It most certainly is!

Something lured Claudia up out of the realm of dreams, a tantalizing, familiar acid tint scenting the air, earthy and arid. 

A cautiously opened eye informed her it was morning, bright sunlight filtering through the slats of the shutters to provide just enough to see by. She was tangled in bedsheets, left arm tucked under a pillow, her right leg trapped between those of her lover, Sheila, who lay lost in her own exhausted sleep.

Claudia spent a few moments gazing in wonder at the sleeping red-head, trying to memorize every curve, every plane of her gentle face. The spray of freckles over her nose. 

‘What the hell am I doing?’, Claudia thought to herself. If she allowed herself to fall in love, she might not want to find a way home. 

Home.

What was home?

The place where she was never good enough? Where no matter how hard she tried, it was never enough? Where her need to please Father had stripped her of her only other family, Soren?

Home.

Did she have a home?

Did she deserve a home?

Callum had Rayla. 

Why shouldn't she have some happiness, some pleasure? Wasn’t it her turn? 

‘Sheila, what did you do to me?’, Claudia wondered. ‘I don’t belong here. Neither of us do. But it’s the world where we're together. And I want to explore it with you.’

How was she going to tell Callum she wasn’t going back with them?

Claudia groaned. She hated introspection. Especially first thing in the morning. Kahve would help. And it smelled like there was some being made downstairs.

Extricating herself from the tangle of cloth and naked sleeping girl was more of a trick than Claudia anticipated, resulting in her overbalancing and gracelessly landing on her backside with an undignified ‘thump’. She rubbed at her hip for a moment as she stood up, seeing that her exiting the bed had not woken Sheila. Yesterday's chemise would do reasonable duty as a housedress as she unlatched the door and made her way downstairs the common room.

Saadia sat before the bar, dressed much as Claudia was, enjoying the fresh air and light flooding in through the open main doors, the sounds of a city coming to life drifting in with the breeze. A bulbous, waisted silver pot with a spout like a bird's beak and a sinuous curve of a handle leaked familiar aromatic wisps of vapor. 

“Kahve?”, Claudia inquired hopefully.

Saadia nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

Claudia slumped onto the stool next to the tavern maid. “You’re a beautiful human being. Marry me.”

Saadia grinned, pouring Claudia a cup. “Get in line. I’ve got a double handful of men making me the same promise. Some of them are single.”

Claudia had blown on the contents of the cup enough to cool it to the point she could take a sip when the vessel was plucked out of her hand. 

“Ooo! Coffee! Thanks, babe! You're amazing!”, Sheila kissed Claudia in greeting, then took a sip.

“My Hot Brown Morning Potion…”, Claudia mourned, pouting.

*-*-*

Callum sat on the wide flagstone landing in the open door to Breezehome, ankles crossed in front of him two steps down, tankard of apple cider in one hand, a slab of aromatic brown bread covered in shaved shingles of the previous night's ham, slivers of pleasantly tangy goat cheese, and snowberry compote balanced in the other. Rayla sat cross-legged beside him, silver-white hair flickering in the mild breeze, thoroughly enjoying a local snowberry pastry Lydia called a ‘dawnpuff', idly scratching and stroking Balgruff the Even Greater as the massive ginger housecat lazed on the capstone of the pier that anchored the top step.

The morning was pleasantly cool, bight sun hinting at the coming heat of the day that would drive off the puffy scudding clouds high overhead.

“Callum, hae many toes are cats supposed te have?”, Rayla wondered.

He thought for a moment. “Four on each foot?”

“This monster has six.”

Callum took a bite of his breakfast, chewing while he considered that odd little fact. “Huh.”

Balgruff rolled on his back, stretching.

A subdued commotion caught Callum's attention, soon proving itself to be the approach of Ulf and a few members of his unique family, Lucia carrying a bundle of clothing in various colors draped over both arms, Sofia with a bulging leather pack slung over one shoulder, laughing at some comment Ulf had made. Babette, cloaked and solemn, the ring handle of a small casket clutched tight, and Sofie chattering, strumming a deep-bellied lute as she paced beside her father, who carried a wooden chest with deceptive ease.

“Good morrow, friends!”, Ulf greeted Callum and Rayla from the bottom of the steps with a grin splitting his dark beard, blue eyes merry. “Are you prepared to face your trials this glorious day?”

Callum swallowed. “Hah?”, was his intelligent reply.

“Excuse me?!”, Rayla demanded, eyebrow raised.

Balgruff ‘bleert’-ed, blinking in feline wisdom.

“Rayla, I commend you into the hands of my wife and daughters for the day. May the Eight Divines have mercy upon you”, Ulf pronounced her fate, setting down the chest. “Come along, lad. We’ve work to attend to, far away from the women's mysteries.”

“Ooo, Callum, so help me Xadia, ah’ll git ye fer this!” 

Callum looked askance at Ulf. “You don’t seriously believe that ‘women's mysteries’ stuff, do you?”

A politely cheerful scoff from Ulf. “Not in the least. I am, however, in need of a spare pair of hands while we help Adrianne and the others erect the podium over the well for this evening's festivities.”

Callum popped the last bite of his breakfast in his mouth, and kissed Rayla farewell for the time being. “Lead on.”

Sofia, Lucia, Babette, and Sofie stood in front of Rayla, waiting until Ulf and Callum were out of earshot.

“Shall we begin?” Babette's thin, bemused smile was positively predatory.

*-*-*

Callum followed Ulf along the main thoroughfare that led to the market and the Bannered Mare, turning left at the well where a collection of planks and timbers had been stacked, up a broad flight of steps that led to another section of the city, dominated by an immense, ancient tree that cast it’s shade over the small square it dominated. A second set of steps over a small bridge led to a building that to Callum’s unpracticed eye looked like a sailing ship have been capsized and then propped up by walls, inside its own defensive enclosure of stone walls and palisade.

“The meadhall of Jorvaskr, home of the Companions", Ulf informed Callum. “The oldest building in Whiterun.” 

“There’s something there…”, Callum muttered as they approached the great tree, looking in the direction of the unusual structure, seeing the immense carved image of a mantled eagle on a bluff above the meadhall.

Ulf paused. “Would you like to take a closer look?”

Callum nodded, wandering over the bridge and up the steps, then left, up more steps to the wide stone ledge overshadowed by the immense statue, which sheltered a massive fire pit being used as a forge. A powerfully built silver-haired elder kept close watch on a younger man who could have passed for Ulf's cousin as he hammered a sword into shape one of the anvils of the smithy.

“Come to see the Skyforge, lad?”, the elder smiled, noticing Callum. “Watch old Eorland Grey-Mane pass along his craft to someone outside the family?”

Steam exploded in a hissing cloud as the big journeyman quenched the blade. “I still have much to learn, Eorland. You’re not dying on me yet.”

“I’m in no rush to feast in Sovngarde just yet, pup!”, the master Smith grinned. “Now then, lad, what can we do for you? A new blade? Some armor?”

“This is a Sun nexus!”, Callum blurted. He could feel the primal energy surging, swirling around him.

“I don’t know about any of that", Eorland scoffed. “I leave such to mages and philosophers to argue about. The Skyforge was here long before even Jorvaskr, and it will be here long after!”

“If you’re done gawking, lad, the Jarl awaits, and we still have to build the podium”, Ulf informed Callum.

“The lad’s with you, shield-brother?”

“Aye, Farkas", Ulf nodded. “Haven’t decided if he’s a stray or a whelp yet. Maybe I'll have Vilkas put him through his paces.”

Farkas chuckled. “Lad looks like a stiff breeze would push him over.”

Ulf shook his head. “Callum here stood fast and didn’t run when the damned dragon stooped on us in the pass from Ivarstead. He’s made of sterner stuff than you might think. Might even be a good battle mage.”

For some reason, Ulf's assessment was profoundly reassuring to Callum.

Farkas took a moment to glance at Callum again. “Can you swing a sword, boy?”

“Umm, kind of?”, Callum hunched his shoulders doubtfully. “I…had some lessons before the war—”

“Well, you can resume them with my brother, Vilkas, after the celebrations are over", Farkas nodded. “No milk-drinker is going to bring shame to my shield-brother!”

“On the morrow, then, Farkas”, Ulf agreed. “I’ll see to it Callum has a proper waster when he arrives.”

Callum trotted down the steps from the Skyforge beside Ulf, confused and a bit worried. “Ulf, I’m no warrior", he confessed. “I’m barely a mage.”

“I’m quite aware of that”, the Thane of Whiterun nodded. “That said, I won’t have you fall to the first Stormcloak tramp or bully you encounter. Which is why your training begins tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir…”, Callum glumly acknowledged his fate.

Hearing the resignation in Callum’s voice, Ulf had them sit on one of the benches under the great tree, Gildergreen.

“I’m no court noble, no titled fool, Callum. I work for a living, and damn hard, providing for me and mine”, Ulf informed him. “Yes, I was named ‘Thane' by Jarl Balgruff—”

“Wait, Lydia named her cat after the Jarl?, Callum asked.

“Yes, don’t interrupt. Balgruff named me Thane, and occasionally he listens to my voice in council. In return, I undertake various tasks for him, usually dangerous ones. I’ve made many enemies along the way. A few of them still survive. And if you’re living here, working for me, you’re going to need to know how to use a blade, understand me?”

“Hold on…”, Callum protested, confused. “You’re hiring me?!”

“All three of you. Even Claudia, troublesome as she’s been to you”, Ulf explained. “Divines know why, but both Serana and Gunhild think the girl has potential they believe can be redeemed, and spoke to me, separately, in her favor. Unlike many men I’m sure you’ll encounter, I don’t dismiss the advice of a woman.”

Callum sat for a moment, absorbing what he’d just been told. He was being trusted, not only to work for a man respected by the local ruler, but to forgive Claudia and give her a second chance.

Could he do that? Could he forgive her almost killing him, almost killing Rayla?

Was Ulf’s respect worth that?

Without Ulf, without his support, clandestine or otherwise, the three of them probably would have been very dead a week ago.

Callum's thumb flicked at the edge of his fingerless glove.

He nodded. 

“I accept your offer. I’ll talk to Rayla.”

Ulf’s grin split his beard. “Smart lad!”, he said as he stood up. “We’ve wasted enough time. An expeditious audience with the Jarl, we introduce you to the court wizard, Farengar, and then we can get the important work out of the way so we can celebrate with our women!”

*-*-*

Claudia sat on the bed, absorbed in her thoughts as Sheila sat behind her, brushing out Claudia’s hip-length hair, an act which Claudia found incredibly, enjoyably intimate. 

This was bad. She was getting attached to Sheila, no, was attached if she was being honest with herself, infatuated with the slender, gentle, caring red-head. Even if she did steal her Hot Brown Morning Potion…

“Claudia?” Sheila’s voice brought Claudia out of her reverie.

“Mmm?”, was Claudia's response.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did”, Claudia grinned impishly.

Sheila playfully swatted Claudia’s hip with the brush.

“Brat! No, a serious question.”

Claudia nodded. “Alright.”

“Umm, how…how did your hair go white there?”

Hesitation. Could she tell Sheila the truth? Should she?

Didn’t all the stories say lies killed love?

Claudia’s voice was very quiet. “Sheila? What would you think of someone who…who did something possibly very, very wrong, because they had always been told it was the right thing to do, hypothetically?”

The brush-strokes paused.

“How bad a thing?”

“Umm… treason, started a war, used dark magic, and brought someone back from the dead bad?” Claudia’s heart was in her throat.

The brush-strokes resumed. “Oh.” A pause. “Did they have a good reason?”

Claudia sighed, shoulders slumping. “Probably not. Does following your parent's orders count?”

The brushing stopped, hair drawn aside to expose Claudia’s right shoulder. A gentle kiss on the exposed skin, an embrace from behind. “Your parents stink.”

“You don’t hate me?”

“No.”

A knock on the door to their room.

Sheila rose from the bed, answering the knock, Serana sweeping in regally, scarlet gown and accoutrements draped over her arm.

“Get dressed. Jarl Balgruff is addressing the populace shortly.”


	19. Accolades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'March of Cambreadth' lyrics copyright Alexander Heather.

Callum was astonished at just how rapidly the high performers platform and podium over the well in the market had been constructed. All of the structural timbers and planking had been pre-cut, dovetails, rabbets, and cunning mortise and tenon joints ready for final fitting and assembly, the entire edifice, twice the height of a man, held together by a few pegs and wedges, as strong and stable as any citadel.

Task finished, and released from labor by Ulf, Callum raced back to Breezehome for a rushed dip in the tub, mildly regretful her didn’t have time to wash his only set of clothes, only to be surprised to find Lydia alone waiting for him to arrive, with fresh clothes laid out on the bed, with a note from Rayla.

‘C,

Being dragged off by the daughters of our host, no doubt for nefarious purposes.  
R.’

Callum didn’t know whether to smile or be concerned. Instead, he decided to carry on with his plan to bathe and dress. 

He was just emerging from the trapdoor to the cellar after his bath, towel wrapped around his hips, sweat soaked previously worn clothes in a convenient bundle for carrying in one hand, gap in the towel held closed on his hip in the other, attempting to close the trapdoor with one foot while balancing on the other, when the front door to Breezehome opened unexpectedly.

Distracted, wanting to see who was coming in, Callum stood taller than he should have, his skull thudding into the stringer supporting the steps to the second floor, and dropped both his clothes and towel as the trapdoor banged shut, just missing his bare toes.

“My, oh my…”, Sofia grinned, bright blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “Now I understand what Rayla sees in you."

Callum thundered up the stairs to the second floor bedroom, dodging past Lydia as she emerged from her quarters to see what the commotion was, retreating to the master bedroom with his face crimson, Sofia's laughter ringing in the rafters. 

*-*-*

Sofia was still smiling, good-naturedly, when Callum eventually descended, fully dressed in his new finery thank-you-very-much some time later.

“Well, at least it wasn’t the first time someone in Ulf's household discovered me like that", Callum sighed as Sofia handed him a silver-lined ceramic goblet of apple cider.

Lydia bustled behind them, putting finishing touches on her own garb, preparing for the festivities, keys to the house double-checked to be in her beltcase, firmly and definitely secured by a fine steel chain, immune to even the most determined cut-purse or pickpocket.

“So why are you back here?”, Lydia inquired, eyebrow raised. 

Sofia waved at Callum with her own goblet. “I was sent to fetch Callum by his true love”, she smirked. “Catching him coming up from the cellar bath was my good fortune!”

“You’ve probably given him quite a shock", Lydia mused.

Callum scoffed. “You’d think so, but I’m starting to accept the fact I’ll live with terminal embarrassment for the rest of my life.”

“Humility!”, Sofia crowed, draining her goblet in a toast to Callum. “The mark of a true man!”

Standing, Sofia extended her elbow to Callum. “Come on then. I still have to deliver you to Rayla. Lydia, would you lock up?”

“I’m sworn to carry your burdens", Lydia mocked, a genuine smile on her face.

*-*-*

The crowd had been slowly building through the afternoon, food and drink vendors doing a brisk trade, jongleurs, acrobats, jugglers, and lesser bards entertaining on the fringes, anticipation building as the over-warm afternoon slid into a salmon-tinted sunset.

In the press of the crowd, Callum didn’t even know Rayla was there until her firm hand slipped into his, giving him a reassuring squeeze in greeting, both of them scanning the sea of faces to spot either Claudia or Ulf, whose three daughters commanded a space near the front of the throng, dragging Callum and Rayla along to stand behind them. 

A ripple of excitation, collective intake of breath from the huddled multitude erupting in a cheer as Jarl Balgruff the Greater mounted the wooden steps to stand above the crowd on the platform, not to lord over them, but so he could see, could speak to all of them. He stood there a moment, arms upraised, hands open, basking in the adulation, ginger hair and heard flinging like red gold in the embers of sunset, his saffron gold cloak a banner of flame over his embroidered tunic. 

“People of Whiterun, I salute you!”, Balgruff exulted, his commanding voice ringing in the open air of the marketplace.

“Two years ago, when war brought all of Skyrim to the brink of extinction, when the dragons of legend returned, to burn our holds and slaughter our flocks and herds, the voice of the Greybeards sounded, calling the Dohvakiin to them, to aid all Tamriel in our darkest hour!

That call was heeded, the man summoned stood before me in my court, confessing that he'd been under the headsman's axe, about to die, and yet after his miraculous escape, still came before me to bring word of the fall of Helgen. For his bravery, I named him Thane of our city!

When Ulfric the Pretender and his legion of Stormcloaks raised their swords against their own brothers and sisters, besieging Whiterun just one short year ago, my Thane, Our Thane, for he strides the world in all our names, led the Whiterun Guard and one, one lone column of Imperial Legion out to face that terrible wrath, accompanied by the Companions of Jorvaskr, the Shield-Brothers and Sisters, true descendants of Ysgramorr’s Five Hundred, to defend our homes!”

Balgruff’s bellow dropped to a reverent, almost conversational level, the crowd silent, straining to hear him.

“The slaughter was terrible that day. Brother against brother, sister fighting sister, parents taking up arms against their own kin. Such acts are a sin in the eyes of the Divines.

And in the middle of it all, risking death and worse, aye, for he would know there is worse than death, would he not? There he strode, and fought, and maimed, and killed, to defend not Skyrim, not Whiterun, not even to defend me, his Jarl! No, he fought to defend his family. His home. All our homes!”

Balgruff drew a deep breath, emotions plainly warring on his face.

“This… parade is not to elevate one man above his station. We do not celebrate death, the families sundered by war and hatred. We mourn the dead, ALL of the dead, and we give thanks that we who survived can remember, and thank those who perished in the defense of our homes and families.”

The sun was no more than a finger of light above the western horizon.

“I gave orders that all fires, hearths, candles, and lanterns were to be extinguished ere night fell, one year after that terrible toll. That night is tonight. And when the sun has set, and it’s light is gone from the world, fire from the Skyforge, our light, our fire, will be brought forth to every home and hall, greater and lesser, throughout ALL of Whiterun Hold, that we might never, ever forget that we are one people, man and mer, Argonian and Khajiit, under one sun! And we will never fall!”

The last glimmer of sunlight wavered and faded, shadow cloaking the land. Horns blared and slurred from the heights of Dragonsreach.

A roar of flame, thunderous in the silence, fire licking at the great stone eagle, an immortal phoenix reborn. Then tendrils of fire, a legion of runners, each with a torch, descended from the Hall of Jorvaskr, bringing light, warmth, and hope to the people, the city, the farms and villages of the entirety of Balgruff's lands.

The cheer was deafening, tears streaming down faces of people embracing each other, past wrongs forgiven, alliances renewed.

Callum found himself embracing Rayla, tears streaming down both their faces, kissing passionately, whispering endearments to each other, promising never to part.

A troupe of bards and musicians behind Balgruff swung into tune, and a high clear voice burst into song, faintly familiar.

“Axes flash, broadswords swing, shining armor's piercing ring!  
Horses run with the polished shield, fight those bastards ‘til they yield!  
Midnight mare and blood-red roan, fight to keep this land your own,  
Sound the horn up to the sky, How many of them can we make die?”, Sofia howled from the platform, drinking horn in hand.

“Follow orders as your told, make their yellow blood run cold,  
Fight until you die or drop, a force like ours is hard to stop!  
Close your mind to stress and pain, Fight ‘til you're no longer sane,  
Let not one damn cur pass by, How many of them can we make die?“

Drums thundered, bagpipes shrieked, flutes shrilled, Sofia leading the refrain with fist held high, Callum and Rayla joining full-throated in the exhortation.

“Guard your women and children well, send these bastards back to hell!  
We'll teach them the ways of war, they wont come here anymore.  
Use your shield and use your head, fight ‘til every one is dead,  
Raise your flag up to the sky, How many of them can we make die?”

Hands outstretched, urging calm, Sofia crooned,  
“Dawn is broke the time has come, move your feet to a marching drum,  
We’ll win the war and pay the toll, fight as one in heart and soul,  
Midnight mare and blood-red roan, fight to keep these lands your own,  
Sound the horn and call the cry, How many of them can we make die? “

The cheer went up again from the crowd, defiant, adamantine. This was their home. And none would ever take it from them.

The celebration had begun. Food flowed from houses and home, taverns sharing freely, casks of ale, wine, cider, and mead broached and dispensed with open cheer.

Callum, grinning, caught up in the mood, stole a glance at Rayla, stopping still at the vision of beauty before him.

A fine tundra-cotton long-sleeved chemise of cloud white, beneath a skirt black as night, and a laced-front overgown of emerald green that perfectly counterpointed the violet of her eyes in the firelight. Her silver-white hair gleamed, bangs in thin braids tied back with a string of emerald silk that matched her gown.

On her left horn, a flicker-glint of polished silver, the midnight wink of purple gem.

Rayla noticed his appraising glance, smiling shyly.

“Ah said ah'd give ye an answer when ah felt ‘twas th' right time", she said, holding both of his hands.

“Me answer is ‘aye'.”


	20. Altercation

Titanic wooden pillars thicker than a man soared into the shadowed reaches of the great stave-built hall of Dragonsreach, supporting the open timber framework of arches and spans that held the shingled gabled roof aloft, creating the illusion of an ordered pale skeletal forest within the walls of the ancient citadel, which rang with convivial song, boasting, and laughter around the long feasting tables ranged along the traditional Nord fire pit of a Jarl's hold.

The broad wings on either side of the flight of steps that led to the foot of Balgruff's throne supported clusters of troubadours and musicians, who provided lively tunes that members of the court and selected notable individuals from the city's populace danced to, long lines of couples that joined and parted, spun in hand stars only to break off into pairs that spun each other by the waist in joyous abandon, in a complicated pattern of steps and passes, endless weaving and swirling motion.

Gowan Ulfberct, Thane of Whiterun, proved an able, active, and nimble dance partner, trading off between his ladies and love with an ease and grace that inspired no few envious glances, not just for his terpsichorean prowess, but the singular attractiveness of each of his partners. Adding to this subtle undercurrent of tension was the fact Gowan, or Ulf as he was known to those he trusted, would dance as readily with a serving maid as he would a highborn lady of the court, smiling and treating all as if they had been to the manor born.

Dazed, cheerfully exhausted by the near frenzy of the festivities, Callum, former Prince of Katolis, had taken the opportunity to beg a rest, claiming a tankard of what proved to be chilled ale, Rayla seated beside him, pale cheeks pink with exertion, grinning, caught up in the exuberance of the moment, violet eyes shining with simple enjoyment as the two of them celebrated the private elation of their mutual betrothal.

Watching the latest dance wind to its end, Callum and Rayla caught their breath, trading sips from the chill-beaded tankard, as Ulf led his lady-wife Aela from the floor, sharing an intimate kiss that scandalized the proper noble matrons of the houses of Whiterun's Cloud District, before gratefully collapsing onto the bench beside the young couple with a laughing breath.

“Lords and Ladies Divine", Ulf sighed, grinning. “I think my life of indolence and wastrel behavior is starting to catch up to me!”

“Ten sets, one after the other", Aela's grin matched that of her husband. “Even the young bravos in the Guard stopped trying to match you.”

“By the gods, wife, you’re right! It’s my duty to show those slovenly laggards a real man can dance twelve sets straight! Callum, I’m stealing your elf-maid away for a set!” Ulf groaned to his feet, bowing graciously, holding out a hand in invitation. “Lady fair, I’ll have the pleasure, if you would so favor me.”

“Nae, ah'm beat, Lord Ulf”, Rayla apologized with a smile. “Me poor clumsy human lad near did himself in tryin' te keep up wi' ye, an' ah’m in need o’ his services later this fine evening.”

Miming an arrow to the heart in comedic disappointment, Ulf turned his attentions to his next victim with a grin. “Right, Serana, you're back in the queue!” 

“Ugh! My feet hurt!”, Serana complained. “Take Eirenna for a turn on the floor instead.”

“Serana!”, the willowy blonde playfully protested, as she allowed herself to be led into the set.

“I see Gowan is still as popular as ever with the ladies", a whip-cord Dunmer woman in a simple dress of dark gold and black linen smiled thinly, a gilded steel link belt supporting a wickedly curved dagger in a simple black leather sheath at her waist. 

“As much as we'll let him, Irileth", Aela nodded to Balgruff's dedicated bodyguard, the comment drawing an amused scoffing chuckle.

“And who might these two new faces be, hmm?”, Irileth inquired, peering at Callum and Rayla. “The lad I met in passing earlier today, but the daedra-looking lass is new to me. I don’t like ‘new'. It makes me… irritable.”

“Calm yourself, Huscarl”, Aela nodded, wary. “Callum and Rayla, as they are called, are travelers well and truly lost, far from home. They are trusted by Gowan, and myself, and have the countenance of our house.”

Serana nodded agreement. “I’m told Balgruff the Even Greater has given his approval to the young lady.”

A smirking chuckle from Irileth. “Now that’s something I’d like to see.”

“Why’s thet? Th’ great ginger lump is a creampuff", Rayla said.

“Your ‘great ginger lump' hamstrung a vampire infiltrating the city six weeks ago. Before that, the beast maimed a thief who attempted to burgle Breezehome. The guards on gate duty salute him when he passes!”, Irileth explained, annoyed. “The first two I can commend the cat on, but the last is intolerable! And Lydia is no help! She encourages the behavior!” 

Callum raised a hand, curious. “What’s a vampire?”

“Blood-sucking monsters", Irileth growled. “A blight on Tamriel.”

“What do they look like?”

“You’re sitting next to one.”

Callum cast a nervous glance to either side. Not Aela, whose expression had gone from festive to solemn. Serana?

Icy calm, concealing smoldering rage behind red eyes.

“Walk lightly, nightblade”, Serana smiled tightly. “I have all the time in the world.”

“Nightblade?”, Rayla asked.

“Dear Irileth is a Morag Tong assassin”, Serana nodded. 

“Retired!”, Irileth snapped.

“And I walk with the Dawnguard, same as Gowan", Serana noted. “Both of us monsters who have learned new ways to hunt, Irileth.”

“Making friends again, Huscarl?”, a regal voice inquired. 

Irileth’s expression flattened into long-suffering tolerance at the arrival of the new-comer. 

“And now the evening's festivities are complete with the arrival of the Imperial parasite…”, Irileth complained.

“Tch. You know your Jarl prefers you to use the term ‘honored guest’ in front of visitors”, the golden-haired woman laughed. “You’re just annoyed because I routinely beat you at tables!”

Serana giggled. “How many games is it now that you’ve lost?”

“Fifteen!”, Irileth groaned. “I swear Livia is cheating!”

Rayla sat quietly, observing the exchange, her face passive as she reassessed the small knot of flowing conversation. The faint nagging…wrongness…of Serana’s scent, Aela's almost feral defense of her family, the smooth, practiced reflexes of Irileth, and now Livia’s military bearing and manner. Callum could feel her tension, his gentle squeeze of her hand telling her she wasn’t alone.

“I trust you’re all playing nicely with each other?” Ulf had returned with Eirenna, the dance set having finished.

Aela barked surprised laughter as Irileth flinched. “Two years married and he’s still quiet as a shadow!”

Eirenna spun to sit next to her love, gracing Serana's cheek with a kiss, linking fingers in held hands.

“Wait", Callum said. “I’m confused—”

“His natural state", Rayla grinned.

“You just said you’ve been married two years. But your daughters are close to me and Rayla in age.”

The coin dropped for Rayla. “Adoption, ye great ninny.”

“Hah?”

“Your elf-maid is right, lad”, Aela nodded. “All three of ours are adopted. And well glad of it I am too.”

“Even th’ one who says she’s over three hundred years old?”, Rayla inquired.

Ulf looked slightly…uncomfortable. “I think this is best a private discussion. It’s late, and we should make a graceful exit sooner. Irileth, please extend our thanks to Jarl Balgruff for an enjoyable evening.”

Irileth nodded. “As ever, Thane, we are grateful to you.” 

*-*-*

Claudia had spent her evening's festivities dancing and flirting with Sheila and Gunhild, laughing, feeling more buoyant and alive than she had in months. 

Sheila’s manner of dancing was unconventional, reacting to the music in an uninhibited swaying and shimmying in her short lilac tunic and high leather boots, occasionally turning or spinning, always in time to the tune. Gunhild, in contrast, leapt at the chance to pull Claudia into the lines and sets of the social dances, taking the male lead, which suited her more masculine manner of dress in dark tunic and tights.

Both of her paramours had complimented Claudia on the scarlet gown with a plunging sweetheart neckline lent to her by Serana, and her lively, boisterous, good-natured enjoyment of the evening had garnered more than a few appreciative comments and glances from several men, one of whom was introduced to her by Gunhild as her shield-sib Farkas, who was almost painfully shy when he asked her if she would like to dance. 

Claudia tapped the tip of her nose with her fingertip, grinning. “A capitol idea! Right after a drink. I’m parched!”, accepting her third goblet of sweet white wine for the evening from the bard Mikhail.

“There you go, my fiery filly!”, Mikhail simpered with open lascivious grin, peering down Claudia's décolletage. Three pairs of eyes noticed his slick, practiced impropriety, even as Claudia turned away in mildly drunken obliviousness.

Two dances, and Gunhild was treading the cobbles with Sheila in a dance, Farkas watching the revelry from a bench, Claudia having retreated to the Bannered Mare to attend to the call of nature, when an outraged shriek followed by the ‘crack' of a hand meeting flesh, Claudia storming down the steps of the inn, cheeks crimson, tears in her eyes.

“The bitch slapped me!”, Mikhail protested from the doorway.

“HE PINCHED MY BOTTOM!”, Claudia howled, indignant.

“Innocent fun!”, Mikhail defended himself.

“His hand was under my dress!”, Claudia screamed, tears streaming down her face in shame and embarrassment.

“She was asking for it!”

The mood in the crowd was turning from festive to ugly. This was not the first time Mikhail had made such a claim, or committed a similar outrage. Gunhild shot a glance to Farkas as he was rising from his seat, a flick of her head in Mikhail's direction as she and Sheila comforted the offended Claudia.

Mikhail found the doors of the inn closed and barred behind him, the crowd forming a cordon down the steps to the waiting Companion, who stood there with grim countenance. Mikhail pounded on the doors. 

“Let me in!”, he screamed, tenor voice cracking falsetto in terror. “I can’t fight that muscle-bound oaf! He'll kill me!”

Saadia’s voice from the other side of the stout door. “We warned you what would happen if you did that again, Mikhail!”

“You Redguard bitch!”, Mikhail stormed. “I should have sold you to those Alik'r brigands when I had the chance!”

“Come down here and take your beating like a man", Farkas called.

Back to the door, Mikhail protested. “You can’t touch me! I’m a Bard, protected by College and custom!”

Mocking laughter from the performers platform above the well. 

“You’re a Bard no longer, nameless one. You are rebuked, revoked, and repudiated by three Master Bards of the College of Solitude, gathered here in quorum!”

“You can’t do that to me!!”

The Master Bard atop the platform called to the crowd. “Hark! Methinks I hear the yapping of a cur! Back to your kennel, mongrel!”

Mocking cheers from the crowd, hands reaching out to peel the fallen minstrel from his refuge, thrusting him down the steps to face Farkas.

Farkas grinned at the disgraced musician. “Tell ya what. I’ll make this a fair fight, and give you a chance. I’ll let you take three swings before I start punching, alright?”

No stranger to the occasional tavern brawl, Mikhail balled his fists. 

“Ready?”, Farkas asked.

Mikhail took his first swing, landing a solid blow beside Farkas’ nose on his left cheek. 

Farkas smiled, mocking. “I’ve taken worse from Lydia’s cat.” 

The second punch crashed into the point of Farkas' chin, a distinct ‘snap' heard, Mikhail yowling, favoring his pick hand.

“Aw, this isn’t going well for you, is it? How are you gonna fight with just one hand now that you broke the other one?”

“So much for your ‘renowned fingering technique’, eh Mikhail?”, a woman’s voice called, drawing laughter from the crowd.

“Last chance”, the brawny Companion glowered.

Mikhail chanced a low blow, aiming for Farkas' crotch, his fist thudding impotently into the meat of the warrior's hip as he turned, anticipating the cheat.

“So that’s how you want to play, eh?”, Farkas' scoffed. “Alright.”

Mikhail's head snapped back, blood spraying from his shattered nose. Cheeks, upper jaw, and palette broken, the former bard toppling backward to lie insensate on the street, gurgling, felled by the sudden headbutt.

A gentle touch on Farkas' arm, green eyes gazing drunkenly up at him. 

“Thank you", Claudia said. “I…I never had someone fight for me before. Well, not like that… I mean, I’ve been there when soldiers were fighting, protecting me—”

“Claudia, darling, you’re babbling”, Gunhild advised.

“Am I?” Claudia was genuinely perplexed.

“You are", Sheila confirmed, nodding.

“Oh. Am I drunk?” Claudia peered unsteadily at Gunhild’s blue eyes.

Gunhild smiled, a slightly regretful sigh. “Can you feel your nose?”

Claudia almost poked herself in the eye trying to demonstrate she couldn't. 

“You’re far too drunk. Mikhail has been pouring you that Solitude brae dropper all night. Bastard.”

“Broken bastard", Claudia giggled.

“Yeah, she’s drunk…”, Sheila confirmed. “C'mon. I’ll help you get her into the Mare…”

“Better idea", Farkas rumbled. “You can use my old room in Jorvaskr for the night.”

Gunhild nodded. “Many thanks, shield-sib.”

Draping one of Claudia’s arms over her shoulders, Sheila taking the other.

“Lets go.”


	21. Accord

Gowan Ulfberct, Thane of Whiterun and Riften, ‘Ulf' to his friends, waited until his guests in the grand house of Bluesky Hall were seated comfortably before the hearth, and his wives were like accommodated, before seating himself with a quiet groan, putting his feet up on a low padded stool and taking an appreciative sip of the generously warm mulled cider in his cup. Aela snuggled up to his left side, Sofia to his right, Serana and her love Eirenna lounging languidly on cushions before the fire. Babette sat at her adoptive father's feet, her own cup in hand, dark eyes attentive, focused on dark-haired Callum of Katolis and the horned elf-maid Rayla of the Silvergrove. 

A glowing log shifted and crumbled quietly into coals behind black-haired Serana and golden-tressed Eirenna, who basked in the warmth.  
“I told you that I would relate how Babette became my daughter", Ulf began. “To do that I have to explain how I came to fight an ancient order of assassins, and the ongoing war in the shadows with Skyrim's vampires.”

Callum raised a hand. “You say you’re fighting vampires…but Serana is a vampire…”

The taciturn Eirenna spoke up. “It's not that confusing, actually. One can fight the darkness, while still recognizing those afflicted with it are good people. I have spent my entire life fighting daemonic influences, battling into the Firmament and the High Heavens, and yet here I am, embracing my love, who uses her dark gift to bring light to the world.”

“But wha' about those who practice dark magic, stealin' life te fuel their sorcery?”, Rayla demanded.

Aela chuckled. “The necromancers who used to frequent the altar near Lakeview Manor in Falkreath Hold now tread very lightly, as Ulf is wont to use them for target practice with his crossbow if he spies them, like as not.”

Callum blinked. “You’ve seen him do that?”

“More than once", Aela grinned wolfishly into her tankard.

Rayla flicked an uncertain glance at Ulf, unsure whether she should be congratulating him, or be wary of him.

“It would be, oh, just over a year ago I heard the rumors about the Arrentino lad", Ulf relayed. “How he had been performing the Black Sacrament to summon the Dark Brotherhood to kill Grelod the Kind in Riften at Honorhall Orphanage.

“I found the lad kneeling, exhausted and freezing in his closed up home, alone, desperately reciting the incantation over and over again. When he saw me, he was absolutely certain I was the answer to his plea, begging me to kill Grelod, and avenge not just him, but all the children condemned to that pit of despair.

“I had Dawnguard matters to attend to in the Rift in any case, so I told the lad I would look into Honorhall. What I witnessed there appalled me, as it should have any good Nord who values family.”

“You killed her", Callum whispered.

Ulf nodded calmly.

“In so doing, poppa invoked the wrath of Astrid, Guildmaster of the Dark Brotherhood”, Babette nodded. “She had him abducted as he slept, demanding he repay the contract he had stolen from the Brotherhood.”

“Five were in that hut in the fens of Hjallmarch that day”, Ulf continued. “Three potential victims, myself, and Astrid, who bade me select one to slay. I spoke with all of them, and while none were innocent, none deserved to be killed out of hand. None save our captor.”

Ulf paused to sip from his cup.

“Five were in the hut that day. Four walked away.”

“Then Ulf, poppa, came for all of us, that blonde witch Livia at his side, invading and infiltrating the Brotherhood's sanctum with spell, fire, and sword by the order of the Pentius Occulatus”, Babette shivered at the memory. “I had served with the Brotherhood for more than two centuries by that time, watching Guildmasters and Listeners come and go, feeding on those I had been assigned to slay. But poppa stayed his hand, and held back Livia, instead offering me…this. A new life. A home. Family. All I had to do was give up my existence as a vampire.”

Rayla sipped at her drink, pondering. 

“How do you stop being a…?”, Callum hesitated.

“A blood-drinking monster?”, Serana smiled, gently stroking Eirenna’s golden hair. “Ulf knows a certain sorcerer in Riften who will perform the ritual.”

“Ulf seems te know a fair number o' interestin' folk", Rayla deadpanned.

Sofia grinned, Aela smiled, and Ulf actually blushed as Serana and Eirenna dissolved in giggles.

“Did I…miss something?”, Callum wondered aloud. 

“Most of the ‘interesting folk' as you put it that Ulf knows are women", Sofia explained, grinning. “He’s forever coming to the aid of one woman or another, and as a consequence, has more than a few rivals who want to pull him down a peg or two. The saying in Whiterun is: ‘The women all want Ulf, and the men all want to be Ulf!’ “

Rayla raised an eyebrow in Ulf’s direction.

“I’m getting to old for this", he grinned. “So then. Questions?”

Callum stared at the rug on the floor in front of the fireplace, frowning slightly in concentration, right thumb rubbing at his forefinger. 

"What did that sound, that shout we heard in the mountains mean, 'Doh-vah-keen'?"

Ulf smiled. "Your pronunciation is atrocious, but expected as you never learned to speak the tongue, the language of the Dohv, the dragons." 

“But what did it mean?”

Ulf shifted, pulling his feet off the low stool, leaning forward, his cup held in both hands, face somber, eyes dark.

“We Nords have many legends. Of Ysgramor and his Five Hundred Companions. Ingoll and the Sea Ghosts. The Wolf Queen. Many, many legends. One legend is the source of the civil war that has almost destroyed Skyrim, the legend of Talos of Atmora, called Tiber Septim by the Empire, their first emperor, the mortal with the soul of a dragon.” Ulf’s voice was low, not reverent, almost haunted.

“That bloodline ruled almost all of Tamriel for thousands of years, initially guided by the Greybeards, guarded by the Blades until two hundred years ago. The Blades fell to the Thalmor, religious fanatics that rule the Aldmeri Dominion, who are offended by the idea that a mortal would be ascended to the ranks of divinity as Talos was. The Greybeards… retreated from the world at the command of Jurgen Windcaller, called ‘the Calm', after he defeated seventeen of his fellow Tongues, as the ancient practitioners of the Thu'um were called, withdrawing to the heights of the great mountain we call Throat of the World.” 

“Husband, should outlanders be hearing this?”, Aela cautioned.

Ulf nodded. “The Greybeards know when a Dohvakiin, a mortal with the soul of a dragon, has attained their power, as it takes many years of dedicated study to understand what the Dohvakiin know instinctively. When they feel that call, the Greybeards summon the Dohvakiin, the ‘Dragonborn', to be tested, and if found worthy, instructed in the Way of the Voice.”

Callum and Rayla sat very still, holding hands, fingers interlaced.

“Rayla, the Greybeards summon very few to their stronghold. Talos, Tiber Septim, was so summoned. Jarl Balgruff will tell you it’s a great honor. Many will tell you how tranquil High Hrothgar is.” Ulf stared the white-haired elf in the eye. “I will tell you, appearances are not truth. Serana appears to be what many consider an embodiment of evil. I know she will fight to protect her home and chosen family.”

“D’ ah have te go te these Greybeards?”, Rayla asked quietly. “Ah mean, if it’s trainin', ah can do trainin'. Ah grew up learnin' te be an assassin.”

Babette scoffed.

“’Bette, behave…”, Ulf sighed, then to Rayla, “While ‘Bette and her sisters were running you through their paces, I introduced your Callum to Jarl Balgruff and his pet wizard, Farengar, after a brief stop at the Skyforge above Jorvaskr. I offered him opportunity for you, all of you, to enter into my employment. Talk to each other before you make a decision.”

Callum and Rayla exchanged glances, he with raised eyebrows in a silent question.

“We'll give ye an answer in th’ the mornin'", Rayla nodded. 

Ulf grunted, nodding in turn, then rose to his feet, crossing the hall to lift a wooden sword with a grip worn smooth from long use from a rack, handing it to Callum.

“Mine own waster. Used it more than once to beat Vilkas about the practice yard. Don’t be late.”

Callum hefted the wooden sword in his hand. “That’s almost heavier than a real sword.”

Ulf nodded. “As it should be. If you’re used to the real weight, your muscles and reflexes are ready when it comes to the real thing.”

Babette attempted to stifle an impressive yawn, Ulf smiling gently at her failure, lifting her in his arms where she nuzzled into his shoulder. “And I think that’s good night.”

Aela rose from her place with a smile. “I’ll see our guests out, my love. Come, this way.”

*-*-*

Callum lay on his right side in the wide bed of the master bedroom of Breezehome, gazing affectionately at the young woman he loved without reservation as she perched on the edge of the bed, her back to him.

“D'ye think we should accept Ulf's offer?”

“I’m not going to lie, Rayla", Callum sighed. “We have no idea if Claudia is going to be able to find a way for us to get home, and it could be even more difficult to find someone else who could help us. We know he looks out for his people. Iona, Sheila, even Lydia look like they're pretty comfortable.”

Rayla slipped into bed, nudging Callum to lie on his back so she could cuddle under his arm.

“Me head knows yer makin' sense", Rayla said quietly. “Me heart…why am ah missin' a place thet was ne'er really home?”

Callum sighed, staring up into the candle-lit shadows. “Both the Silvergrove and Katolis might never have accepted our relationship, our…love. Certainly wouldn’t have let us live together.”

Rayla was silent for a moment, listening to the faint remnants of revelry in the city, her fingers idly tracing doodles in the sheets on Callum's chest.

“When we were in Riften, ah met an elf who was joined with a human.”

“And we're betrothed now", Callum smiled.

“Aye", Rayla smiled in turn. “Thet we are, me daft clumsy human.”

“I’m not that clumsy…”, Callum protested playfully.

“So ye admit yer daft?” 

“Only because I’m in love with you.”

“Aye. Me answer is aye. We take the offer, build a life here. Our life here.”


	22. Abode

Lamplight flickered on the arched wall of the vaulted stone chamber, the wavering illumination revealing a tall wooden wardrobe and chest of drawers opposite the wide bed Claudia lay in, blinking awake in bleary misery. She was too warm.

The feminine forms on either side of her explained that fact. Bright red hair to her right, sable curls to her left. Sheila sprawled on her back, gently snoring, right leg draped over Claudia's, while Gunhild spooned close, right arm embracing the young sorceress. 

Beneath the bedclothes, none of the three young women wore a stitch.

How in the name of all the Primals had she wound up in this ridiculous situation?

Oh, right. That stupid bard and the wine he had been feeding her all night. 

Claudia combed her piebald hair away from her face with her right hand. Lost, stranded by her own arrogance, and anything but alone, in a world where dragons were a deadly threat, the remnants of a civil war sputtered, and the local politics were complicated and lethal.

“I don’t know why I’m complaining", Claudia said quietly in the room's silence. “I should feel right at home.”

“If you’re going to be awake and introspective, Silver-lock, darling", Gunhild grumbled sleepily, eyes closed, “could you do it while getting us some breakfast?”

Sheila twitched awake, stretching languidly, groaning slightly. “Hmmmm… breakfast in bed”, she yawned. “Lovely…”

Wriggling to sit up, Gunhild grumbling quietly in mild protest at the movement, Claudia sat up and threw back the quilts, the cool air of the room making her nipples stiffen. “You two are terrible! Making a poor hungover maiden act as your servant!”

Gunhild scoffed in quiet amusement, one bright blue eye peeping out from under a nest of midnight hair, quilt snugged up around her shoulders. “We almost has to sit on you last night, miss rowdy breeches. Maiden? Hah!”

Clambering un-daintily over Sheila, Claudia extricated herself from the bed, bedding, and bedmates, pulling a shift on over her head. A mischievous glint in her eye, she grabbed a double fistful of the corners of the bedding, pulling hard, dashing out the doors to the room into the hallway, pursued by the outraged howls of her girlfriends, only to meet the reproachful glare of Tilma the Haggard, the eternal housemaid of Jorrvaskr.

“Thank you so much for making more work for me, dearie", Tilma sniffed as Gunhild and Sheila appeared in the doorway behind Claudia, naked and laughing.

“Fret not, mother Tilma”, Gunhild chortled. “ ‘Ere the morning is out, dear Claudia will know a washboard well."

“What?!” Claudia was scandalized.

Some minutes later, Claudia sat on the covered patio, bare feet up on a stool, eating a sweet roll, watching as Callum was put through his paces under Ulf's watchful eye, endlessly going through the moves of step, extend, lunge, recover, step, extend, lunge, recover, a wooden practice sword in hand. Dressed in shifts of their own, Sheila and Gunhild sat on the opposite side of the table, Gunhild carving pieces off an apple with a small knife, sharing them with Sheila and Claudia while pointing out the places where Callum's sloppy form left him open to exploitation to an opponent.

“He’s old enough to be serving in the levy", Gunhild commented. “But whoever trained him left him almost completely unprepared for an actual fight.”

Claudia sighed, sweeping a strand of her silver hair behind her left ear. “That would have been my brother, Soren. At least partially. He knew Callum was…attracted to me”, she explained, right arm propped on the wooden chair back, hand cradling her head. “Soren would tease Callum. Callum wanted to be a warrior so badly, but…it’s just not in him. Not like his aunt Amaya, or his step-father, King Harrow.”

Sheila almost spat out her apple cider with a cough. “Wait! Callum is a prince?!” 

Claudia waggled her hand horizontally parallel to the paved courtyard they sat in. “Mmm…half-prince. By marriage. His younger brother, Ezran, would have been the heir after…”

“After…?”, Gunhild prompted, curious.

A long sigh as Claudia steadied her nerves. “After my father, Viren, murdered King Harrow and triggered a war between Katolis and the elf kingdom of Xadia, he declared himself regent and then King of Katolis, sending me and Soren to recover the egg that would hatch out into the Dragon Prince Azymondias, and if necessary, dispose of ...”, she paused, curled knuckles to her mouth, debating how much to tell her romantic prospects. “My father sent us to…kill…Callum. And Rayla.”

A chill breeze whispered across the training yard, making those not engaged in vigorous exercise shiver for a moment.

“We—I, failed. My father failed”, Claudia admitted, ashamed. “And then…then I tried to get Callum and Rayla as far away from me as I could. I used an enchantment I’d only glanced at. And now…” She swept a hand broadly to encompass all they could see. “Here we are.”

“Claudia?” Sheila's voice was very small, very quiet as she looked away. “I’m glad you failed. Your father was a jerk.” 

In the practice yard, Callum sweated, muscles protesting, simultaneously annoyed at being treated like a raw beginner, and excited at the prospect of being trained by experienced warriors easily equal to his aunt, perhaps even better.

After fifty repetitions, his tutor, Vilkas, brother to Farkas, had him stop, standing in the morning sun, panting, shoulder of his sword arm numb with exertion. 

Vilkas nodded approval. “Good, lad. A brief rest, something to wet your throat, and then switch to the other hand.”

“Did you have to do this?”, Callum asked Ulf, curious.

Ulf shook his head, leaning against the mortared stone wall that enclosed the practice yard, a wry chuckle in his throat. “Nay, lad. When I joined the Companions, my shield brother Vilkas and I fought best of five passes. He almost didn’t lose three of them.”

“What the Harbinger is saying is that he beat me from pillar to post, chasing me around the yard with that same waster you bear now", Vilkas grinned. “An ell of good honest steel in his grip, and him looking at you over your shield, boy, you'd best be ready to feast in Sovngarde.” 

“Sovngarde?”, Callum blinked.

“The feasting hall of fallen heroes”, Aela the Huntress explained, handing a tankard to her husband, and one to his sweating pupil. “You show promise, young Callum. Perhaps one day you will be worthy to hunt beside me. Or my beloved.”

Callum drank from the offered tankard, grateful for the chilled water-cut ale.

Watching the proceedings in the practice yard below from her perch on the rim of the Skyforge that overlooked Jorrvaskr, Rayla had been paying special heed to the ways the Companions moved with their weapons and armor.

“If you’re an elf, you’re the damned strangest one I’ve ever seen", Eorland Greymane the renowned master smith remarked to the former assassin, while watching his apprentice Farkas work the forge. “But, since I learned the entire damn war was being manipulated by the Aldmeri, and that answers to prayers come in unexpected guises, perhaps I should learn more about you before I make any final judgements.”

Rayla scoffed. “’Tis not like ah'm askin' yer permission te be here.”

Clapping Farkas on the shoulder in compliment, Eorland walked over to stand beside Rayla, carefully not crowding her, leaning on the knee of his left leg, raised to brace on the rocky lip that surrounded the forge area. “I’m an old man. One son dead in a pointless war, the other abandoned his birthright, and a daughter insistent on marrying into the family of our rivals, the Battleborns. Former rivals, I should say.”

Rayla glanced at the elder human, intrigued.

“You move like hunter, even in the city, watching, judging, cautious”, Eorland nodded. “You don’t trust us humans, and maybe it’s wise you don’t. All save Ulf. He’s worthy of your bond.”

“How de ye know Ulf?”, Rayla inquired offhand, watching as Callum resumed his training below.

“Three years ago, Ulf arrived in Whiterun a pup, raw to the ways of the Companions. Within months he’d won their trust, learned from them, fought at their side, avenged the fallen”, Eorland told her. “When the Silver Hand raided Jorrvaskr and slew the previous Harbinger, ‘twas Ulf who led the foray to avenge Kodlak Whitemane, bringing home thirty of their silver swords as loot. I was the one who restored Wuuthrad, the great axe of the first Harbinger, Ysgramorr, placing it in Thane Ulf’s hand that he might lead the expedition to the Tomb of Ysgramorr to free Kodlak's spirit to journey to Sovngarde.”

Rayla blinked. Ulf hadn’t told them any of this.

“Did…did he succeed?”, Rayla whispered.

Eorland nodded, a tight smile of fierce pride buried in his white beard. “Aye. And was proclaimed as the new Harbinger by every Companion upon his return. It was scarce a fortnight later that Ulf and Aela were wed. The rafters and rooftree of Jorrvaskr rang with praise and song for days afterward.”

Below, Callum had returned to his training, this time with his off hand, Vilkas correcting his form occasionally with rapped knuckles or a counter that would leave a bruise as a lesson. Rayla could see the increasing frustration on Callum's face, knew he was tamping down his increasing impatience with relearning the basics.

Dropping Ulf’s waster for the fifth time after having his knuckles stung by the simple dowel Vilkas used in place of a similar practice sword, Callum swore, feeling his ears burn with humiliation. “Damn it!”

Ulf’s hand on his shoulder interrupted Callum’s impending self-recrimination.

“Callum, lad, you’re tired, and that's making you careless”, Ulf’s calm tome advised. “Take up your waster, hang the practice gambeson you're wearing on a peg inside the hall, and take some food.”

With a nod and a sigh of acknowledgement, Callum triggered the healing spell he’d learned scarce days ago, the shimmering golden tracery soothing the minor hurts Vilkas had dealt him.

“Smart lad", Ulf nodded with an approving smile as Rayla dropped from the rim of the Skyforge to the paving in the practice yard below, sauntering over with a cocky strut in her step.

“Are ye finished wi' thrashin' me lover about th’ yard?”, The slender white-haired moon elf challenged with a grin as she stretched, arms folded behind her head.

“Aye", Vilkas nodded, clad in his fur-trimmed wolf-themed armor, eyes dark. “For now. I expect him back two days hence to continue his training.”

Callum and Rayla joined Claudia at the trestle table under the shaded portico that extended from the rear of Jorrvaskr to the practice yard, sharing in the fruit and baked treats heaped in carved wooden bowls, sitting on the wooden bench opposite Sheila and Gunhild.

“Has Ulf talked to you yet?”, Callum asked Claudia once he’d struggled out of the sweat-darkened padded gambeson, pulling it off over his head, then tugging his tunic back into place.

The young sorceress shook her head negative. “What about?”

“Th’ thane saw fit te hire Callum and meself, an' like will do the same wi' ye", Rayla pointed out, taking a bite from a green apple, savoring the tart crisp crunch. 

“Me. Working for a living", Claudia smirked, bemused. “Father would be outraged.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad", Sheila observed. “Ulf pays decently, and if you wind up working at one if his residences, you get room and board as well.”

Claudia nodded absently, considering. “What use could he have for a half trained sorceress?”

“You could always ask him to send you to the College of Winterhold”, Gunhild offered. 

“I’ve never been that far north”, Sheila brooded quietly, arms wrapped around herself, her hands on opposite shoulders.

Green eyes flicked in the redhead's direction. “You’d follow me?”

Callum and Rayla remained judiciously silent as Sheila considered her answer, her expression flickering between hope and apprehension, finally nodding at Claudia. “I would. I…oh, this is going to sound so stupid, but…I think I fell in love with you the first time I saw you, back in Riften.”

“I was delirious from frostbite spider venom", Claudia remembered with a grin. “And exhausted. Hardly a sterling first impression.”

Gunhild cleared her throat before speaking, slicing off the last bite from her apple. “Silver-lock and I met while she was attempting to drown her sorrows at the Sleeping Giant in Riverwood. I think between Sheila and myself, we can keep Claudia occupied and away from too much trouble if she does petition the Arch Mage to join the College.”

Boot heels thudded on the plank floor of the portico as Ulf passed the party of youths on his way to the doors into Jorrvaskr. “I’ll put in a word with the Arch Mage the next time I see him", he grinned.

Callum spun in his seat, facing his employer. “You know the Arch Mage?”

“He should”, Aela sniffed as she strode past to enter the head hall herself. “The Arch Mage did marry a Companion, after all.”

Rayla blinked. “Th’ only married Companion ah've heard of is ye.”

“Fancy that…”, Aela grinned, and slipped through the opened door, leaving the confused group to stare at the Thane of Whiterun, all save Gunhild, who smiled into her tankard.

“Yer a mage?!”, Rayla exclaimed, staring at the tall Nord.

“I dabble", Ulf admitted.

Waving his hands in front of himself to clear the confusion, Callum interrupted. “Wait, wait, wait! You’re a minor noble—”

“Very minor”, Ulf pointed out.

“A Companion—”

“Actually, he’s Harbinger, leader of the Companions”, Rayla supplied, raising a hand, index finger making the point.

“A wealthy land owner, know the Greybeards who have apparently summoned Rayla because they think she’s one of these Dragonborn—”

“Ulf is both Greybeard and Dragonborn himself", Gunhild grinned, enjoying Callum's discomfort.

“And now we find out, with no warning, you’re the Arch Mage of the College of Winterhold?!”, Callum exclaimed. “Is there anything else we don’t know about you?”

Claudia raised a hand. “He also led the defense of Whiterun in the civil war.”

Callum's shoulders slumped, head drooping. “I’m taking sword lessons from a living legend…”, he mourned. “Primals, this is worse than Soren and his ham acting that day in the courtyard.” Rayla patted his shoulder in consolation, having grown up in the shadow of her own parents deeds.

Ulf took half a step away from the table, snapping his fingers as he remembered something, turning back to face Rayla. “Do you have any of those, what did you call them, moonberries, left?”

Rayla blinked at the non-sequitur. “Aye? Less than a handful, an' a wee dribble o’ th’ juice?”

“Excellent!”, Ulf grinned through his beard. “Here’s your first task in my employ, then. Please take your remaining berries to Arcadia in the marketplace, and ask her to plant them in her usual manner. While you’re there, ask if the loft apartment is available. I’ll hazard a guess you and Callum will be wanting privacy sooner rather than later.”

Callum felt the tips of his ears warm in reaction at the implied meaning of Ulf’s words.

“And while Callum and Rayla are occupied, Sheila and I will oversee Claudia assist Mother Tilma with the washing”, Gunhild announced, smiling.

“I’m doomed", Claudia deadpanned.


End file.
